


Being Donald Trump: Hail to the Chief!

by Worffan101



Series: Being Donald Trump [3]
Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Catharsis, Don't Try This At Home, Down with Moscow Mitch!, Fuck Mike Pence!, Gen, The Author Regrets Nothing, The author's therapy session, Worst President Ever!, make Supergirl gay again!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26932633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worffan101/pseuds/Worffan101
Summary: Insane President Comrade Donnie faces a new year and new threats in this third entry in my increasingly absurd tale of a self-insert with supernatural luck.  Comments welcome and greatly appreciated!
Series: Being Donald Trump [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1347850
Comments: 19
Kudos: 19





	1. Tired of Winning

_12:01 AM. January 1st, 2019. Cotton Plant, Arkansas._  
  
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!”  
  
I sit bolt upright in bed, screaming like a banshee as I do so. Secret Service goons kick in the door, letting blazing light into the hotel bedroom, but Vinnie’s already by my side.  
  
“Easy!” my henchman growls. “Easy, it’s just a nightmare. Mr. President, Mr. President, get control of yourself!”  
  
“FUCKING FUCK!” I scream. “HE STABBED THE KURDS IN THE FUCKING BACK AND GOT IMPEACHED! ORBAN RIGGED HUNGARY’S SYSTEM AND GOT AWAY WITH IT! SOME PSYCHO SHOT UP A MOSQUE IN NEW ZEALAND! LIBYA FUCKING BLEW UP AGAIN AND NOBODY CARED! BORIS JOHNSON WAS FUCKING PRIME MINISTER! THREE MASS SHOOTINGS IN A WEEK! THAT SHITBAG ERDOGAN INVADED--”  
  
Vinnie slaps me, hard. That shuts me up. I hear voices outside, people moving. “That was your download, kid. Just your download. Mattis is waiting in DC, there was an incident in Russia and he and DNI need an update on your memories.”  
  
“Right.” I suck in a huge breath, my voice rasping. Vinnie waves off the minions, who shut the door behind them. “OK. OK. Here’s what I want done. Tell the Australians and New Zealanders that Aussie national Brenton Tarrant is planning a terrorist attack on New Zealand soil. Uh, oh, you know a guy called Blake Jenner?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“He’s an actor. I want him in prison. He’s a domestic abuser, but it’ll be hard to press charges. Frame him for, uh, domestic terrorism and kiddie porn, something like that, then send him to GITMO.”  
  
“I’ll see what I can do, sir.”  
  
“I’m probably going to get in trouble for that, but fuck it. Uh, China’s probably looking to weaken Hong Kong’s semi-autonomous status. I need to stop them. Libya is a matchbox about to catch fire, we need to get diplomats on the ground and moving, now, to prevent a civil war. There’s some kind of virus that’s going to pop up in China in December. Also, December, locust plague in East Africa, we need relief funds ready.”  
  
“You get all of that?” Vinnie asks someone to my other side. I turn, and see Annie typing away at a laptop.  
  
“Yep. Kurds, Orban, New Zealand, Libya, Boris Johnson, mass shootings, Turkey invaded someone, Brenton Tarrant, terrorist, Blake Jenner, frame for kiddie porn, China, skullduggery in Hong Kong, Libya matchbox, virus in China, locust plague in December.”  
  
“The Kurds,” I snarl. “Turkey invaded Rojava to kill some Kurds. It’s long past time we cut Erdogan down to size.”  
  
“On the list for foreign policy,” my admin confirms.  
  
“Also, Morsi’s going to die due to blatant neglect and mistreatment by the Egyptian junta. Diplomatic pressure there. Merkel might be uncooperative on Turkey, pressure her. Preventing Johnson from taking power in Britain is paramount.”  
  
“Corbyn’s calling for a vote on his soft Brexit today,” Vinnie rumbles. “It’s going to be OK.”  
  
“Alright, Fatima, Mattis, and Mueller have the list,” Annie reports. “I’ll liaise as we go. Hey, Annie, did you get the sales numbers on _SuperSoldier: Nazi Slayer!_ back yet?”  
  
“Yeah, revenue is solid and we sold almost 2 million units, with another 500 thousand pre-orders.”  
  
“If I didn’t order bonuses for all personnel at Trump Games yet, give everybody a bonus.” Vinnie hands me a takeaway cup of tea, which I take a long swig from--lukewarm and tannic, a really shitty excuse for Earl Grey, but whatever. I’ve had cold over-tannic tea before, didn’t kill me. “What else--South Korea. Big scandal in their pop music world, lots of sexual assault cases and two female singers killed themselves. People were pissed. See if we can spark the outrage without the deaths? It was part of a larger thing involving normalized sexual violence towards young lower- and middle-class women for the enjoyment of upper-class men in Seoul nightclubs. Tell Moon Jae-In to investigate...uh...Lee Seung-Hyun.” I filter through my supernatural memories. “He runs a sex trafficking ring. But he’s far from the only one. There’s a lot of GHB on the streets and it’s being used by the elite nightclubs to rape women. Get Mueller clued in, have anyone CIA has in Seoul spend some time gathering intel and passing it to the Korean press. Oh, and talk to, fuck, what was the guy’s name…” My mental image scrolls down a photo-like memory of an article. “Joo Won-gyu. Pastor, some kind of Christian denomination. There were police corruption allegations, too. Lots of underage kids are being trafficked, too, I’m talking 13 year olds.”  
  
“I’ll see it dealt with,” my admin promises.  
  
“And we should take advance of my supernatural luck sometime. Find me reports of extinct animals after the official dates.”  
  
“On my list.”  
  
“Good.” I finish my tea. “Let’s ride.”  
  
***  
  
 _The White House. 9:00 AM, January 1st, 2019._  
  
“The fuck do you mean Corbyn’s Brexit plan _failed_?”  
  
“Uh, Labour party centrists defected, Mr. President,” Secretary of State Angela Nicole Walker informs me. I’m still crabby after the flight from Arkansas and sending the actress back to her own home, and my openly socialist chief diplomat is visibly unnerved by my demeanor. “The bill failed by three votes.”  
  
“ _Son of a bitch!_ ” I snarl. “Corbyn resigned?”  
  
“Before the bill was voted on, yes. It was a deal with the centrists.”  
  
“Those backstabbing _fucks_! That’s fucking low. OK, uh, condemn them and say that I support the swift resolution of the Brexit issue. And I support democracy. Mueller, what bullshit do you have for me to deal with?”  
  
“We think that Vladimir Putin just tested a nuclear-powered missile, Mr. President.”  
  
I freeze. “He did _what_? He’s not supposed to do that for the better part of the year! Son of a bitch!” I run a hand through Trump’s shitty wig. “OK, uh, what kinda intel do we have?”  
  
“There was a nuclear blast west of Archangelsk, Mr. President. Russian state media is saying there was an ‘incident of foreign sabotage’ but our operatives think that Putin’s been taken to the hospital with acute radiation syndrome. There are over fifty top military-industrial figures who’ve been hospitalized, half a dozen dead already.”  
  
“That dumb son of a bitch,” I shake my head. “He actually fucking did it. Oh fucking hell.” I run my hand through the rat’s nest again. “OK. Russia’s gonna be a fucking shitshow. Odds on Putin dying this year?”  
  
“Still unclear.”  
  
“Right. Mattis, is putting our military at DEFCON 4 appropriate?”  
  
Mattis nods. “At a minimum, Mr. President. We’re looking at a potential internal crisis within a nuclear-armed superpower.”  
  
“Do it, then. Mueller, I want everything you can get me on Russian inner workings. I mean daily briefings, as big an operation as you need, ask me for funding and I’ll divert it, Hell, I’ll give you cash from my private funds if it comes down to that--if Putin dies without a solid successor Russia could go completely to shit.”  
  
“I...do not think that your personal fortune will be necessary, sir, but the thought is appreciated.”  
  
“Right, well, whatever you need, bad enough that dumb son of a bitch is fucking around with the _Burevestnik_ …” I groan as I sit back in my chair. “OK. Good news, people?”  
  
“The papers are already talking about you finding that bird,” Mattis notes. “It went ‘viral’ or something on the Internet.”  
  
“Damn! That reminds me--I gotta talk to Interior.” I stand. “Anything else I need to be briefed on?”  
  
“Not at the moment, sir,” Mattis replies. “I’ll have the Joint Chiefs take us to DEFCON 4 across the board.”  
  
“Good man. And again, if any of you guys need something--call me, I’ll answer.” I stand, straightening my jacket. “The accident was likely caused by a nuclear-powered cruise missile, the 9M730 _Burevestnik_ , NATO reporting name SSC-X-9 _Skyfall_ , which Putin tested in August ‘19 old-line. I got the download again, but only details available in civilian news. They thought it’s a subsonic cruise missile system, intended to be submarine launched, indefinite loiter time. Old-line, the accident caused five deaths of radiation poisoning, I don’t know much more.”  
  
“...sir?” Walker asks in confusion.  
  
“Need to know, Madam Secretary. Don’t worry, it won’t affect your work.” I nod to Mattis and Mueller. “Do you guys need anything more? I wanna give a speech, vent to the press a bit.”  
  
“Do _not_ mention the missile unless prompted,” Mattis orders me. “And don’t do anything provocative--and yes, that means no Tweets at Putin for the rest of the day at least.”  
  
I sigh in disappointment and acquiesce. “Fine. Mueller?”  
  
“I’ll make the calls,” he promises me. “Go do your speech, Mr. President.”  
  
“Madam Secretary?”  
  
“I’ve got a statement drafted on the Britain situation--”  
  
“Use your best judgement, I’m probably going to call the defectors Russian puppets and enemies of freedom later. Or something like that.” I grab my coat. “I trust you lot. Now go and do some good for America.”  
  
***  
  
 _11:30 AM._  
  
The hastily-assembled reporters quaver in their seats as I stride out in my rainbow Afro wig and a suit. “Welcome, you poor fucks, to another Donald Trump press conference,” I say into the mic as a matter of course. “Cower before the wrath of your insane leader, yadda yadda yadda. Well, folks, it’s a brave new year, let’s try to make it less of a shit-stain than last year. What a fucking shitshow that was, huh? I nearly got fucking blown to bits in Jerusalem because some fascist psycho hated peace.” Israel and Palestine are currently cautiously settling into the treaty-mandated system, and the Israelis are preparing for the aftermath of the first genuinely free elections in Palestine in years, which resulted in Hamas making gains in the West Bank despite losing the popular vote in Gaza, and Fatah nearly collapsing. The threat of American wrath should keep things from getting too crazy, though.  
  
I did after all email the leaders of all of the major parties involved to threaten to have them assassinated if they don’t keep the peace and hand over power properly.  
  
“Anyway, lots of good people are doing good things and struggling for peace, in Israel, Palestine, whole world. We’re gonna fucking make it, guys. We’re gonna un-fuck this planet. And I’m gonna un-fuck this country.  
  
“We’re gonna start by bringing ten million new people here to America. Everybody who’s being oppressed, we’ll take ‘em. Romani and Yazidis and Uighurs and people like that, we’re going to take ‘em in and make’em free, we’re going to have our bigly beautiful people host these New Americans, and we’re going to pay ‘em for it by taxing Jeff Bezos and using that cash to pay our citizens to host the new arrivals. And we’re going to have such a bigly beautiful, such a bigly rich America, it’s going to be amazing, you guys, so amazing you won’t believe how great America’s gonna be with ten million new Americans here, raising their kids in our schools, learning to love our America and working to make is bigger and stronger than ever, and the other countries are gonna be so, so jealous, man. You’re going to be so tired of winning, let me tell you.  
  
“Oh, and we’re gonna abolish the electoral college after that, it’s really bad for our democracy, for our America.” I take a drink of water from the glass on my lectern. “Constitutional amendment, people. We’re gonna grab the Senate, we already have the House. We’re gonna elect a revolutionary coalition and we’re going to repair our democracy, or die trying. Because America is worth it, by jingo! We’re gonna remove the antiquated shit and fix our country, fix our democracy, make our elections great again. MAGA democracy!”  
  
I take another drink, and belch. “Any questions?”  
  
Lacey Dawes, wearing a Gucci dress that I estimate at $10,000 and a pair of emerald earrings, raises her hand. “My favorite reporter?”  
  
“Hey, dumbass. There are reports that you found some kind of rare bird yesterday in Arkansas?”  
  
I grin with genuine joy. “Oh, yeah. I got photos and video of an ivory-billed woodpecker. Catch!” I fish a jump drive out of my pants pocket and toss it over; Lacey catches it. “There’s the footage. Congratulations, you got another scoop for insulting me. I’m still a little wired so I’m probably going to be, like, processing for a few days, then you can expect another insane tweet string over the woodpecker from me.”  
  
“Thanks, Comrade Donnie. How do you intend to pass a constitutional amendment with Mitch McConnell still narrowly controlling the Senate?”  
  
“Well, I’m going to focus mostly on bringing in more Americans to support our great economy this year, and improving Internet access to rural areas, and supporting unions for farmers and other agricultural workers. And I’m going to tax the Hell out of Jeff Bezos. In 2020, when I’m reelected with a bigly beautiful revolutionary majority in both chambers, we will end the electoral college so that each and every Americans’ voice matters exactly the same amount.” I take a sip of water. “And when those 10 million refugees we’re going to make into New Americans have kids? Those kids will grow up in American schools, reading American books, watching American TV. Come 2036, maybe 2040, that’s a whole lot of vibrant young Americans who will join our electorate and add their voices to our nation. Just like we assimilated the Poles and the Irish and the Italians and the Scots and Spanish and Chinese and Japanese, well, except that whole Manzanar thing, but anyway, assimilated all of them and the Mexicans and Cubans and Vietnamese, we’ll bring the whole Goddamn world to America, and we’re gonna make America into the future by bringing a bit of every people, of every language and every religion, and melding them all with our own.  
  
“It’s gonna be fucking beautful, Lacey. Like the Federation, from _Star Trek_. And then we’re going to have a Starfleet, too. I’ve raised NASA’s budget through the roof, we’re going to have our very own Starfleet, we’ll be on Mars by 2050 or so, we’re going to expand beyond the Earth and out to the stars and the future. All of the peoples of Earth will come together under the Stars and Stripes, and bring democracy and socialism to the stars, _for America_!” I clear my throat as Fatima gestures at me from the corner of my eye. “Uh, and I’m also way off topic, sorry about that. You, NBC.”  
  
“Mr. President, do you have any comment on the mysterious explosion reported from northern Russia?”  
  
“The Defense Department is handling the issue. I have ordered DEFCON raised and our forces are on alert, but I do not expect military confrontation at this time. CNBC, you’re next.”  
  
“Mr. President, are you promising to abolish the Electoral College if you are reelected in two years?”  
  
“Yes. I want to make American democracy better. A non-plurality President should not exist, we should elect the President by simple popular-vote majority. America needs democracy or America will die, and I will not permit any restrictions to our glorious democracy. This is the heart and soul of my anarcho-socialist beliefs, that democracy is an inherent good and we need as much of it as possible. Because Freedom Works, and Comrade Donnie will stop at nothing to bring unto America the Maximum Freedom that our glorious Lady Liberty deserves. MAGA Democracy! MAGA Equality!”  
  
“MAGA DEMOCRACY!” chant a couple of my cultists at the back of the room with crisp salutes. “MAGA EQUALITY!”  
  
“Thanks, guys, I love you, we’re going to make ten million New Americans and we’re going to make the fat-cats like Bezos and Bloomberg and Zuckerberg pay for it. Lacey again?”  
  
“Mr. President, the Republicans currently have the tiebreaker and a _de facto_ Senate majority. How do you plan to pass another tax hike to pay for an immigration surge?”  
  
“Well, we’ve got most of it paid for already. I mean, this just means we pay off a little less of the national debt. 100 billion dollars is a drop in the ocean, we’re projecting tax revenues of almost 4.5 _trillion_ dollars, I am spending less than a tenth of that on giving American volunteers 10,000 dollars a year to each host a family of refugees. I mean, even if we pay ten grand per year per individual refugee, that’s still only 2% of our annual budget, the same as NASA. This is going to be great for our GDP to have all these new Americans working in America and buying American, and if I can raise my own taxes again, that’s just icing on the cake. So really, it doesn’t matter what Moscow Mitch tries, but I fully intend to use the bully pulpit to my advantage, by harnessing the fury of our great American people to force Moscow Mitch to let through bills that make the rich pay their fair share.  
  
“And to my fans--look for the _Adopt New Americans--If You’re Patriotic Enough!_ program’s website to go live within the next month. I have State working overtime on that. Also I’m ending the ICE concentration camps today, I signed the executive order this morning, so we’re going to work at fasttracking law-abiding undocumented people through the refugee program ASAP. Might just abolish ICE, too, those fucks are more trouble than they’re worth. You, CBS.”  
  
“Mr. President, about the ivory-billed woodpecker--”  
  
“Yeah, it’s super cool, right?” I give the reporter a white-toothed grin. “I’m still kind of in shock. I literally can’t believe...I mean, I knew I’m lucky, but…” I shake my head. “Look, Lacey has the details. You, ABC.”  
  
“Mr. President, where do you plan to house ten million refugees?”  
  
“We have over 17 million empty homes in this country, more than thirty times the amount of homeless people, ironically. Also, we’re going to be building up our rural areas with broadband internet infrastructure, which I might subsidize if I can get the funds, roads, schools, all of that, that we’re going to build through the _Work for America, if you’re man enough!_ program I pioneered. I’m sure there’s a lot of Americans in the heartland who are looking at tough choices between sending their kids to school and getting help around the farm, I think they’ll like being paid to host refugees. We’re going to build so much, so many new jobs building so much across America, it’s gonna be beautiful, I promise.”  
  
It’s going to be a crazy fucking year.  
  
But this time, I think I might be up for it.  
  
***  
  
 _January 3rd. Vancouver, British Columbia._  
  
"Mr. President?" Melissa Benoist asks in confusion as she opens the door of her cottage. Being an openly corrupt dick, I have as a matter of principle ensured that she and the rest of the Supergirl cast have nice scenic cottages up here while they film, instead of boring old trailers or apartments. "Didn’t Justin Trudeau say that you’re not allowed in Canada? And why are you here late at night?"  
  
"I threatened to cause the mother of all diplomatic incidents if Trudeau didn't let me back," I admit as Vinnie mouths an apology behind me. "It's a long and irrelevant story, but the gist of it is that I just got my annual download of memories from my other life two days ago, and in that other life the other me saw a video you made where you discuss that shithead Blake Jenner and how he hurt you." I stick my hands in my coat pockets with a grimace. "I'll spare you the rote praise for your courage because it's self-evident, you’ve got balls of titanium. I got pissed at the memory download and so I talked to Vinnie, and Vinnie knows a guy in CIA black ops, and that guy's cousin got wasted on opioids a couple years ago but thanks to my work-release program in Puerto Rico he's an apprentice plumber now and turned his life around, so this black ops guy who Vinnie knows felt he owed me a solid, so I told Vinnie to frame your shitbag ex for domestic terrorism and plant some kiddie porn on his hard drive. I put the weaselly little fucker on the no-fly list personally while I was on the plane up here."  
  
"...what."  
  
"Yeah, it's a weird story. Anyway. I got tired of people shitting on people I like a long time ago. So I figured, I'm POTUS, I've got lots of power, why not use it for petty revenge in the name of a nice lady I know." I sniffle, and turn back to Vinnie. "Can I have a beer, man? I wanna get drunk again."  
  
"No, sir," Vinnie says with finality. I sigh unhappily and turn back to Benoist.  
  
"Anyway. I just, you know. Realized in the car that maybe I reacted badly and took the revenge that should've been yours..."  
  
"Revenge?" Benoist snorts. "I've got a movie deal lined up, so many offers my agent can barely cope with the paperwork, and a great boyfriend. Being successful and happy is all the _revenge_ on that waste of life that I need. Honestly the thing that hurts more is being reminded of him."  
  
"Shit. I'm sorry, I should've..."  
  
"It's alright. I appreciate the sentiment, even if what you did is completely insane and probably unethical, and Chyler and Laura told me about...you know...the ghost thing."  
  
"...oh." I hunch over a bit. That really should be more secret. "You believe them?"  
  
"It's literally the only explanation that makes any sense at all. Are you alright? You look and sound...tired?"  
  
"Yeah. I've just had a weird couple of days. Was pretty shit last year, too. How about you?"  
  
"I'm doing fine. Do you want something to drink?"  
  
"Orange juice if you have it. If not, water. Thank you."  
  
"Not a problem. So--this year. I make a video?"  
  
"Yeah. You cry a little in it. Millions of people hit the 'net to support you and hate on that shitheel. Everybody loves you for it. From what I will hear, heard, whatever, in that timeline, your current boyfriend is super supportive. He seems like a nice dude, I’m sorry for being a dick to him."  
  
Her voice shakes a little as she reaches up into a cupboard for a couple of glasses. "Wow. I--thank you, Mr. President. Knowing that....it means a lot."  
  
"Anything I can do, ma'am. Anything I can do." A thought strikes me. “Hey, does your boyfriend need work? I just hired Chyler Leigh for a space-opera show, planning at least three seasons, and I’m funding it personally so that’s a guarantee, though the role I’m thinking of is only one season. He’d play a space soldier who dies heroically to nuke the bad guy’s army.”  
  
“I’ll have to ask him, but I don’t think Chris would mind working for you.” Benoist sets a glass of water in front of me and takes the seat across the table with her own drink. “Comrade Donnie--if you don’t mind me asking, who are you, really?”  
  
I take a drink. Set the glass down. Let out a breath. “My real name is Ian. I was born in ‘96 in Seattle. I committed suicide on December 22nd, 2017. I was 21. This life is...I don’t know. My punishment, maybe.”  
  
“I’d call it a second chance,” Benoist counters, quiet-like. “You mean well, Mr. President. You’re a screwup, but then, one of the best people I know told me about how she used to be a bit of a screw-up. Speaking of, thank you for supporting Chyler when she came out.”  
  
I shrug. “What can I say? I like her. I make no secret of the fact that I play favorites.”  
  
“Yeah,” she chuckles. “I noticed. Hey, uh, Ian, Donnie, whichever you want to be called--I’m sure other people have told you this, but please take better care of yourself. A lot of people care about you now.”  
  
“I know,” I rasp. “A lot of people did in my old life, too. And I let them down, all because I found the balls to end it.”  
  
“Suicide isn’t brave,” Benoist snaps. “It’s _living_ that takes real courage.”  
  
“So people say,” I mutter morosely. “Either way, I’m glad I had the big red button taken out of my desk and told the guy holding the Football to never open it unless we have warning of an imminent enemy first strike. Some days, I just hate this whole hateful species.”  
  
The actress eyes me critically. “You still have a therapist, right?”  
  
“Yeah.” I take another drink. “Weekly meetings.”  
  
“Good.” She leans back in her seat. “So, I heard you rediscovered an extinct bird?”  
  
My smile is genuine for once, warm and pure. “Oh, yeah. Ivory-billed woodpecker. We birdwatchers call it one of the Grail birds, the ones that any birder would give his right arm to see.”  
  
“I bet that felt good.”  
  
“You have _no_ idea,” I tell her honestly. I can feel the grin starting to stretch over my face, real and pure for the first time in what feels like forever (though it's really only been a couple of days) as I begin to geek out over the bird.  
  
It is, after all, a Grail bird.  
  
***  
  
 _January 6th. Moscow, Russian Federation._  
  
Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin coughed painfully, in pure agony as his new GRU chief was ushered in. The new intel chief quavered as he stood before his Vozhd, saluting crisply. “ _Vozhd_ , I am Andrei Stepanovich Kropotkin. I, ah, have been chosen as the new Colonel General in charge of the GRU--”  
  
“Good, good,” Putin wheezed. “Be certain not to repeat the mistakes of your predecessors, Andrei Stepanovich.” He coughed spasmodically, pale and sickly from the radiation poisoning. “If you do so, you will _suffer_!”  
  
“ _D...Da, Vozhd_ ,” Andrei Stepanovich managed, shivering at the thought of what the dying dictator considered sufficient suffering. “What shall my first task be?”  
  
“ _Eliminate Donald Trump,_ ” Putin snarled, burning hatred in his sickly gaze. “ _Kill--_ ” and he descended into another coughing fit.  
  
“It shall be done, _slavniy Vozhd,_ ” Andrei Stepanovich rasped. Everybody was whispering about what had happened to his predecessor (shot), to Igor Kostyukov (pushed off of a roof), and the late, barely-remembered Igor Korobov (poisoned). God, he hoped he could survive…  
  
“Good,” Putin rasped. “Good, good. Get rid of him, and we will return the Motherland to true greatness!”  
  
Outside, the members of the Russian government who hadn’t been poisoned by the radiation at the disastrous Burevestnik launch sharpened their metaphorical knives.  
  
***  
  
 _January 9th._

***

_January 10th._

“Welcome to another round of _D &D with Comrade Donnie!_” I announce to the camera with a grin. “Before we begin, a huge shoutout to the _Adopt New Americans--If You’re Patriotic Enough!_ program. Adopt a refugee or a family, get paid by Uncle Sam from Jeff Bezos’s taxes. Because fuck that creepy lizard motherfucker, man, that much wealth in one man’s hands is an inherent threat to America’s democracy. Share the wealth, protect our democracy, POTUSMAGA!

“And of course a word for our sponsors--Paizo, Incorporated, a group of veteran D&D gamers who have branched out into publishing their own tabletop system, _Pathfinder_. We’re actually starting one of their pregenerated adventures today, I’ve heard it rocks. Give ‘em a look, I hear some loser with more money and time on his hands than he knows what to do with bribed them to reprint some of their most popular products.”

I turn to the party with a grin. “Alright, let’s introduce ourselves, folks!”

“I’m the mighty wizard Barrius the Bold, fresh from the Wizards’ Academy and with a chip on his shoulder,” former President Barack Obama says. “Barrius has a wife and a young daughter with another on the way who he’s trying to provide for, but with the economy in the toilet, he has to do odd jobs to pay off his student loans. Eventually, Barrius would like to improve local social services, but right now he has to worry about his family.”

“My character’s called Johnny Jupiter,” Barron says. “He’s an angelkin aasimar fighter using the two-handed fighter archetype, but he has Charisma 14 so the ladies love him, too.”

“Anything about his personality, goals, anything like that?” I ask.

“Get rich and meet hot babes,” Barron replies.

I guess that’s the best I’ll get out of him. “Annie?”

“I’m Maria, a sheltered plumekith aasimar cleric of Shelyn who’s spent her life cloistered in a monastery and wants to explore the big city,” my admin grins. “Mara’s a kindhearted, sheltered ingenue who dreams of one day getting to kiss a girl.”

“I’m Vivette, a dashing young half-elven woman currently on the outs with high society after an illegal duel...but at night, I am the Knave, a dashing and mysterious swordswoman who saves ladies in distress with a quick wit and quicker blade!”

“And I’m Cirelle Tanner, a half-orc Slayer,” Tiffany says. “I’m a single mother whose dirtbag husband left her for a stripper, but my daughter was recruited by criminals, who killed her when she got cold feet and tried to report them to the Watch for murdering a man during a robbery. Now, I live to slay the man who took my daughter from me, and I will not rest until he’s six feet under.”

“Great characters, guys,” I chuckle. “I can tell this is going to be a blast! Now...are you prepared to face the dangers and secrets of the great City of Korvosa...and to uncover the mystery of the Curse of the Crimson Throne?”

There’s a general cheer. Barron even joins in, and his nose is buried in a splatbook with one hand already sketching out notes on a piece of paper.

This is gonna be fun.

***

_January 12th._

**The Guardian:**

THE BEAST IS IN!

_Controversial MP Dennis Skinner officially enters Labour leadership contest after a fiery speech against defecting MPs amidst chaotic protests against the resignation of Jeremy Corbyn_

What now?

_Almost two weeks after the devastating failure of Jeremy Corbyn’s Brexit plan, we remain without a proper government or a plan._

Fears of unrest spread as campaign begins

_Labour leadership contest expected to finish by February; groundwork already laid as part of Corbyn’s failed deal for party unity._

**Haaretz** :

Jerusalem worshippers find peaceful welcome

_Despite fears of violence from extremists, joint security forces ensure calm and harmony during landmark event as rabbi invited to Friday Prayer, mullah invited to Shabbat services in Jerusalem._

Americans reaffirm support for treaty

_Secretary of State issues statement denouncing Representative's comments against 2018 peace deal._

Netanyahu sentenced after tense trial

_Former Prime Minister given 20-year prison term amidst numerous scandals_

**The New York Times:**

Trump promises “New American Revival”

_Populist President promises economic benefits, national power from expanded immigration in Montana victory-lap rally._

Gaetz under investigation by Ethics Committee

_Controversial Florida Congressman under fire for neo-Nazi ties and Israel comments._

**Jacobin:**

Inside Jeff Bezos’s plot against America

_The notorious billionaire doesn’t just have the potential to destroy our democracy; former employees allege he has plans, too._

**HuffPo:**

D&D with Donnie or Critical Role: Inside the dueling livestream shows taking the Internet by storm!

**Paizo Blog:**

ANNOUNCING _Hell’s Rebels_ and _Jade Regent_ Anniversary Editions!

_These classic adventure paths are to be re-released for Pathfinder 1st and 2nd edition as hardcover collections, with new art, additional content for_ Hell’s Rebels _(implementing social combat rules from Ultimate Intrigue and support for the Vigilante class!) and fixes for the caravan rules system and some additional content for_ Jade Regent _. Do you have the courage and willpower to lead the Resistance against the fascist dictator, Lord Mayor Paracount Barzillai Thrune? Do you have the skill and resilience to travel across the Crown of the World, and overthrow the infamous Jade Regent?_

_Due to the vital support of a customer and supporter who wishes to remain anonymous, both of these products will be available for pre-order at a 50% discount, and will remain at a 40% discount for the first month after release. Order your copy today!_

_(Our thanks go out to our benefactor for his support!)_

***

_January 16th. Johnny’s Half-Shell, Washington, DC._

Addison Mitchell McConnell, Jr., sipped his $250/bottle wine with a hateful scowl. “Took you long enough,” he snarled to the Ruskie.

“The _Vozhd_ is... _indisposed_ ,” the haggard-looking Russian spy replied. “I must often... _loyally await orders_.”

“Hmph. Well, you’re here now. Tell your boss that everything’s in motion. I guarantee you that the men will be in place in time.”

“Good.” A bead of sweat rolled down the Ruskie’s temple. “Apologies, Senator. The previous head of our GRU suffered a...tragic accident. I do not wish to suffer the same, and I have been rather stressed.”

Goddamn it, Putin really needed to stop executing his minions. Mitch could understand shooting a serial idiot, but better to just fire them and ruin their careers. “Tell Putin he can take a day off, then. Everything’s in place. On the fifth, we finally get rid of that motherfucker and fix things the way your boss and I want ‘em.” He chewed on a bit of horribly overcooked rib-eye with a grimace. That mullet-headed idiot who ran this joint oughta be fired. Or at least fire his goddamn chef. _Swear to God I’ve eaten better at fucking campaign rallies…_

“I will convey the message at once,” the Ruskie replied with a grateful smile. “Ah...is there anything on the menu that you would recommend?”

Fucking cheapskate, sponging off of Mitch…the Senator sighed. “Just get the goddamn snapper. And don’t get too many oysters from the raw bar, these meetings are costing me a small fortune.” Being a Scrooge never hurt Moscow Mitch, and he really _was_ getting tired of paying for Russians’ meals.

Well. It would all be over soon. _Just three more weeks…_

***

_January 19th._

“I am such a bad person,” I snicker.

“Nah, just a bit of a troll,” Vinnie opines, lurking behind me like a lethal shadow. On my computer screen, the first draft of the _Make Moscow Mitch our Bitch Anti-Gerrymandering Act_ begins to take form.

“How are things in England, did you hear? I’ve been busy all morning.”

“Skinner’s up twelve points. He called some jackass called Alastair Campbell a ‘lily-livered buffoon’ and a ‘spineless plutocrat’, the media’s calling him a dangerous unelectable Communist insurgent but the reaction’s going in his favor according to the polls.”

“Isn’t he the guy who wants to abolish the British monarchy?”

“Well, he hasn’t said that in the debates I saw with Liz. He did say they should get rid of the House of Lords and England should get a devolved government, basically turning the UK into a real federal state like the USA.”

“That actually doesn’t sound like a bad platform.”

“Yeah, he’s at least as out there on the left as you are, but he seems OK. Those defectors really fucked up by ditching Corbyn’s plan, makes John Podesta look like a genius. Now their choices are going to be the British version of you and an obvious scam artist. It’s really something else.”

“Scam artist? Oh, Boris Johnson, right?”

“Yeah. That guy’s a balls to the wall con man, he’s so obvious about being a scammer people buy his bullshit because they think it’s too goddamn obvious. Fucking nuts, as far as I’m concerned. Liz thinks he’s an asshole.”

“He is. Racist idiot, but really damn good at grasping his way to power, according to my new memories.”

“Hmm.” Vinnie leans over me. “Maybe cut out the extended digression insulting McConnell’s penis? That’s just going to give the lawyers a headache.”

...fair point.” I delete the detailed description of Moscow Mitch’s alleged micropenis. “Oh, right, just remembered.” I pull up my email. “Matt Bevin’s going to pardon a convicted child-rapist and the murderer brother of a campaign donor after he loses the gubernatorial election in Kentucky this fall. I need the MAGA Nation to get out and start fucking him over. Maybe another strike in Louisville…”

Moscow Mitch may still have the Senate by the slimmest of possible margins...but I have the bully pulpit. I have a good feeling about this year.

(My instincts have never been so wrong in my life)


	2. Positively Toward the Negative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comrade Donnie's actions have consequences.

_January 21st. BBC recording studio, London, England._  
  
“Our first question today covers the self-declared Independent Group for Change,” Nick Robinson said, shuffling his papers. “Mr. Skinner, do you think that the Independent Group’s rejection of former Prime Minister Corbyn represents a threat to your potential effectiveness as Prime Minister?”  
  
The white-haired old man in a rough brown suit coat and red tie chuckled at the question. “Effectiveness? I dare say Labour will be a damn sight more effective without those quivering Quislings dragging down our party over their petty vanities! If they’re willing to sabotage their country and throw out a Brexit deal that would’ve spared us the worst of a hard Brexit while protecting our workers just to spite my good friend Jeremy after the People chose him over them twice in a row, then as far as I care they can join Dodgy Dave in Notting Hill where such plutocratic popinjays belong.”  
  
“But Mr. Skinner, surely you can’t deny that your policies are quite radical and may alienate moderate voters, reducing the likelihood of Labour securing a majority?”  
  
“If I’m a radical, my boy, then I shudder to think of what you think of reactionary baboons like Boris Johnson! I stand here today for reinforcing our NHS, for getting Brexit done so we can all get back to work, and supporting our workers through breaking the plutocrats to heel and reinforcing our close ties with the United States, if that is a radical platform then I dare say that Nigel Farage is a bloody liberal!”  
  
“Mr. Woodcock, you present yourself as a safe and sensible alternative to Mr. Skinner,” Robinson said, turning to another candidate and adjusting his glasses. “Do you think that Mr. Skinner is too radical to win a majority for Labour?”  
  
“Ah, I do, Mr. Robinson,” Woodcock, a bearded middle-aged man in a black business suit, replied. “Mr. Skinner obfuscates his ridiculous and economically destabilizing proposal of allowing janitors to choose CEOs, and I do believe that he has been _quite_ unfair and impolite to the Independent Group, who were forced into their actions by the actions of the Corbyn administration, from a failure to address allegations of antisemitism within Labour to the steadfast refusal to hold a People’s Vote--”  
  
“Oh, shove off, you pretentious pillock!” Skinner scoffed with obvious rage. “When I’ve eighty-year-old Jewish pensioners, loyal Labour women their whole lives, complaining to me of those ‘independent’ plants conflating that racist bastard Netanyahu with their faith--”  
  
“Excuse me, Mr. Skinner,” Robinson tried.  
  
“--and posh bastards like you calling for us to hold referenda until you get the result you want--”  
  
“Excuse me, the Guardian--” Woodcock attempted.  
  
“Bugger the Guardian, when they let that bigoted blighter Glinner, or whatever that sod calls himself now, write about how trans-gender Britons deserve to be oppressed--”  
  
“Mr. Skinner, it’s Mr. Woodcock’s turn to talk!”  
  
“--And leaving the antisemitism row aside, the original 2015 referendum would have come back Remain if people had taken it seriously--”  
  
“--no journalistic integrity left, and as for the Group, those back-stabbing bastard friends of yours went over and helped that bloviating chiseler Johnson and his racist pet Farage because they didn’t have the adult responsibility to vote Remain the first time and they’d rather try in vain to hold another referendum despite the courts striking that proposal down than support the duly elected leader of this party!”  
  
“Mr. Skinner, Mr. Woodcock--”  
  
“This is why I’m standing, we need a woman’s touch to keep these men from arguing our way into electoral oblivion,” interjected a brunette with a little _Phillips for PM!_ badge standing to Woodcock’s right.  
  
“--even though the courts struck down the Corbyn-Bailey proposal, the potential economic effects of Brexit are so great that we must consider a slight risk to our democracy to get a better result on a new Brexit referendum,” Woodcock finished in a flustered rush.  
  
Which only set Skinner off again. “Aye, a risk to our democracy alright! You’d see Britain an oligarchy run by multinational corporations!”  
  
“Mr. Skinner…” Robinson sighed.  
  
“I do not!” Woodcock protested. “We must make compromises to prevent a Johnson government, and the Independent Group were Labour members in good standing who felt that the party was failing to address their concerns--”  
  
“Compromise our principles away!” Skinner interjected.  
  
“ _Felt that the party was failing to address their concerns_ , and we cannot risk further defections!”  
  
“Bugger the turncoats, they’ve shown their true colors, let those Tories in pink paint go and join Boris the chiseler and Dodgy Dave at their Eton class reunion, we’ve a lovely slate of vibrant sorts coming up from all ages and all regions to stand for Labour, for the true Labour platform and a party that will stand for everyday Britons against the encroaching power of plutocrats--we don’t _need_ to appease turncoats when we can elect a hundred eager new MPs who’ll support the people over the wealthy!”  
  
“Mr. Skinner, _please_!”  
  
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, this sort of division only harms our electoral chances,” a third man, a photogenic lawyer in a crisp suit practically wooden from starch, interjected. “We need party unity in the face of the threat of a potential Prime Minister Johnson, and bickering over what’s already done can only damage that.”  
  
“It’s him and his lot that went and caused that division in the first place!” Skinner objected. “You were _there_ , Mr. Starmer, and you had the minimal integrity to vote for the exit plan.”  
  
“Yes, it was a clearly dishonorable and, I dare say, almost dishonest decision by the Independent Group, but there is also blame to be laid at the leadership’s and Momentum’s feet for putting pressure on them. I believe that a unity candidate is the path to victory.”  
  
“So they stab the People’s choice in the back, and we’re to reward them with compromises?” Skinner challenged. “How’s that good sense?”  
  
“I believe that given the tenuous numerical voting situation, we must swallow our pride and attempt to restore Labour unity. Sensible or not, we simply lack the seats to form a government at the moment.”  
  
“We’ll _have_ those seats if we can provide a clear alternative to Boris Johnson and his chiseler mates,” Skinner countered. “I’m far from the only Labour man who’s bloody _furious_ at those soulless sods who left us at the moment of truth, if we try to compromise with those traitors we’ll risk our constituents staying home in frustration! Not to mention, they left the party _after_ Jeremy went far above and beyond any reasonable expectation to appease them, and they stabbed him in the back regardless!”  
  
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, given that our base is majority-female, perhaps we should support--”  
  
“I know that emotions are running high, but the Independent Group have stated that they felt unconvinced that Prime Minister Corbyn would follow through on his promise of resignation--”  
  
“You see, it’s un-electable radicals like the honorable member for Bolsover whose divisive and economically dangerous policies--”  
  
“Mr. Woodcock, you’re not helping--”  
  
“A pack of lies, Mr. Starmer, and you know it! Jeremy had already announced his resignation, those corrupt bastards made that vote knowing full well what they were doing!”  
  
“For God’s sake, John, I’m trying to help you here--”  
  
“--as a woman I have the unique calmness of mind that men these days seem to--”  
  
“Un-electable, am I? Let’s put that to the test before we jump to conclusions, you pompous pillock!”  
  
“--compromising with the same un-electable radicals who gave us the failed Corbyn administration and its xenophobic anti-trade stances--”  
  
“--Mr. Skinner, believe me, I feel as much outrage as you do over the defection, but--”  
  
“--and to the honorable member for Holborn and St. Pancras, you deserve better than trying to salvage the dishonorable sod for Barrow and Furness, let him bury himself with his words--”  
  
“--pledge to protect female spaces from disguised--”  
  
“--more than ten suspensions from Parliament--”  
  
“--please, we can’t afford this intra-party strife, a compromise platform for party unity--”  
  
“--stuff your prattle about suspensions, I’ll be suspended ten more times in a year if I have to share the chamber with you and your corporate masters, I shan’t be responsible for what I say--”  
  
“Gentlemen, _please_...”  
  
“--invite JK Rowling to be special envoy for culture--”  
  
“--radical Communist platform--”  
  
“--John, for God’s sake, please stop, you sound like a bloody Tory--”  
  
“--plutocrats’ puppet!”  
  
“--woman’s touch.”  
  
“--dangerous radicalism!”  
  
“--dear Lord, can we at least agree that we must prevent a Boris Johnson premiership by any means necessary?”  
  
The overlapping argument stopped in a rush as all four participants ran out of breath. The moderator waited a moment, not even breathing as he hesitated to see if…  
  
Skinner recovered first. “And I’ll say this but once, to the honorable Tory for Barrow and Furness, I shan’t _ever_ privatize the NHS as that blue-blooded worthy has said he’d ‘consider’!”  
  
“Please, Mr. Skinner,” Robinson attempted.  
  
“Dennis, for God’s sake, man, he’s already shown his arse before the whole nation, let’s elevate the tone of the remainder of this debate,” Starmer pleaded.  
  
Skinner still looked rather miffed as Woodcock sputtered. “You have a point, Mr. Starmer. Though I would argue that the honorable Tory’s argument makes clear the unreliability of the Independent Group and the need to take a stance more resolutely in defense of the average Briton.”  
  
Within two days, Skinner had jolted up fifteen points in the polls, and had gone from “protest candidate” to “frontrunner”.  
  
It was all uphill from there.  
  
***  
  
 _January 23rd_  
  
“How are we on that police reform plan?” I ask in between breaths as I step off the treadmill, my garish red tracksuit (with Marx and Bakunin’s faces on the front!) soaked with sweat. The retired Marine Sergeant who Mattis found to train me gave me a 5-minute break, so I’m trying to get some work done as I grab a drink of water.  
  
“There’s no way it’ll pass the Senate,” Annie informs me, “even if the testbed works.”  
  
“Then we keep it in the air but on the back burner until 2020. For now, we invest in the Seattle defund and replace testbed. Can Schumer get the discretionary funds authorized in the next appropriations package?”  
  
“It’s going to be tough, Pence will vote it down if there’s a tie.”  
  
“Worth the risk to try to convince McCain? Does he have any positive feelings towards me I could work with, ‘cause I suggested he get tested my first year?”  
  
“He’s dying, Donnie. And everybody knows it.”  
  
“So, crass?”  
  
“I’m saying wait for the special election.”  
  
“Now _that’s_ crass.”  
  
Annie shrugs. “Do you want the appropriations or not?”  
  
Fuck this politics game. “OK. Goddamn it, I feel like a louse. Put that in a holding pattern until we have the votes. Until then I’ll have to try to divert funding within my limits. Update on Putin?”  
  
“Still in the hospital. The Russians are saying that he’s practicing judo until the doctors release him, it’s obviously bullshit.”  
  
“Heh. OK. Anything else I need to know?”  
  
“Another round of pro-democracy protests in Thailand. Endorsing them would piss off the Thai government, and we’re in the middle of an influence struggle with China there.”  
  
“Full support to the protesters. Have Mueller use the CIA to put out some feelers. Let’s use the goon squad to support democracy instead of subvert it. The Chakris are backstabbing fucks anyway, and that _lese majeste_ crap is just plain nuts. What next?”  
  
“Elections are coming up in Estonia and Slovakia.”  
  
I check my supernatural memories. “Left-leaning candidate wins in Slovakia. Or did, last time. Supposed centrist party wins in Estonia, works with the scumbags on the right and far-right. If they do that again, take Estonia off of the White House guest list. Oh, and schedule a trip to Estonia for me now, if the so-called centrists pull that stunt, recall it, send a message that way.”  
  
“Yes, Mr. President. The Finnish situation remains volatile, but we think that the Finns Party--their far-right nuts--are going to lose several seats after that debacle last year with the Russian coup attempt.”  
  
“Right, Putin wanted to use Halla-Aho as his puppet. That was funny. OK, uh, we shouldn’t need to do too much, but if I remember correctly, the center-left forms a coalition cabinet, then there’s some kind of general strike, so they put someone called Marin in charge. All-female cabinet, probably fishing for social capital, but I think the Left Alliance leader was part of it. Watch the elections closely and remind me to reiterate our support for Finland entering NATO.” That last part is sure to infuriate Putin, but fuck it, he’s dying anyway. “I want to bring them in while Russia’s distracted. So if Putin dies, bring the Finns in and pay for a giant statue of Simo Häyhä on the Russian border.”  
  
“Got it. Lastly--Ukrainian parliamentary results came back.”  
  
“Oh, yeah? After that mess last year and getting Zelensky nearly a year early, I’m surprised they’d want another election so soon.”  
  
“Zelensky dissolved the Rada on his first day in office, remember? You had a briefing on it?”  
  
“Must’ve forgotten. Sorry, memory downloads can keep things out of my immediate--nope, right, I remember what you mean now. How do the results look?”  
  
“Landslide for Zelensky. Your support and the White House meeting with him have his approval ratings in the upper 70s. His party got almost 270 seats, a supermajority.”  
  
“ _Nice_. Full congratulations and have me call him later, get Mueller to conference in, I want to give Zelensky access to CIA intel to help him take down the oligarchs. Also, if Russia is distracted, I want to put feelers out, see if we can bring Ukraine into NATO.”  
  
“That’s crazy provocative, sir.”  
  
“I’m a crazy guy. Besides, if the Kremlin’s busy reenacting _The Death of Stalin_ , we should take advantage of that.”  
  
“...I’ll have Mattis and Walker notified so they can yell at you. Last thing, Berlanti says that he put feelers out to that cartoonist lady you wanted to meet, Noelle Stevenson?”  
  
I turn back just before I get on the treadmill. “She receptive?”  
  
“He says she’s up for running an animated show after you, and I quote, ‘stole my She-Ra thunder with that insane Supercorp plan’. She also wants a specific promise from you before she starts.”  
  
“That being?”  
  
“You read and comment on her _Supergirl_ fanfic.”  
  
My coach/drill instructor comes up just quickly enough to overhear that little exchange, and bursts out laughing at the absurdity that is my life.  
  
***  
  
 _January 26th._  
  
“...and with this pen, I--shit, it’s out of ink. Uh, anybody got a spare--oh, thanks, Vinnie.”  
  
I take a new ballpoint from my chief henchman with a grateful grin, and clear my throat. “With this pen, I hereby authorize emergency funding for the preservation of the ivory-billed woodpecker, _Campephilus principalis_ , and declare it to be the official bird of the United States Department of the Interior. We will protect and preserve the natural heritage of our glorious nation, and we will make jobs as we do so!”  
  
I sign, and the various assembled dignitaries clap politely. Secretary of the Interior Aaron Mair is a bit more enthusiastic about it, which makes sense given that he used to be a Sierra Club big-shot, and I just gave him permission to go to town trying to save a supposedly extinct bird.  
  
I don’t have much time to celebrate, though. I still need to tweet some pro-trans stuff, get my daily Russia briefing, grab myself some lunch, handle the collapse of Ubisoft after something like half its senior executives were arrested for varying degrees of complicity in sexual violence and fantastically unethical “business” schemes...and that’s all on top of my _usual_ leader of the free world duties.  
  
“How are the polls?” I ask Fatima as my minions escort me away. A flunky hands me a bagel (cinnamon raisin, strawberry cream cheese) and I chow down as Fatima flips through something on her smartphone.  
  
“Your approval ratings are holding steady at seventy-two. I’ve got surrogates holding a rally outside of Amazon’s headquarters in Seattle. Bezos is sending angry emails, but Annie has them filtered to Spam.”  
  
“You’re the best, Fatima. Annie is, too, but especially you.”  
  
She gives me a one-handed hug, which I reciprocate. “Thanks, Donnie. Annie got the Irish history buff and the metalhead from North Carolina you wanted to help write your _Star Trek_ show, the CBS suits are sending concerned notes.”  
  
“Fuck the Suits. They’ll see that these guys can write better than half the overpaid hacks Hollywood has today. I’ll double-check with Annie to make sure they get those bonuses.” My buddy from my old life from North Carolina is getting backstage access and front-row seats for an entire Sabaton tour, and I’m not even sorry for my blatant corruption. “Did Nana Visitor get back to us?”  
  
“I don’t know, Annie was on that.”  
  
“OK. Is my cult monkeying around again?”  
  
“Five guys with guns tried to ‘liberate’ an ICE holding facility in Texas, but state police managed to talk them down. Other than that, they’re pretty quiet. Buzz on the Internet has you slated to make a dramatic announcement at the State of the Union, and they want to be ready to ‘fight for’ you.”  
  
“Well, they’re not wrong. See if you can’t have our surrogates get them to finesse things a bit more. Keep the protest nonviolent, or I’m going to fucking lose it, kinda thing.”  
  
“Absolutely.” She tucks her phone into her pocket. “Hey. We’re going to pull this off. We’re going to fix this country, and then help bring peace and harmony to the world.”  
  
I hug her, and she lets me just melt into her for a second, releasing some of the insane stress that being President’s left me with. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we can do it. I actually felt happy this week, it wasn’t just the drug feeling.”  
  
“Good!” she encourages me. “It’s going to be a good year. Now, I hate to overload you, but we need to go over State of the Union plans as we walk.”  
  
I release her regretfully, but nod. “Alright. Hit me.”  
  
Moscow Mitch isn’t going to know what hit him on the Fifth.  
  
***  
  
 _January 28th. Rome, Italy._  
  
Italian Prime Minister John Oliver stepped timidly out of the Palazzo Montecitorio, and immediately received a standing ovation.  
  
So that was how it was going to be.  
  
Oliver straightened his back, marched out to the lectern that had been set up for him, and offered his hopefully least terrifying smile to the public. A dummy labeled _Silvio, il fottuto ladro_ was being set on fire towards the rear of the crowd, visible if Oliver squinted through the sea of Italian flags.  
  
When the cheering died down, Oliver cleared his throat.  
  
“Ah, _Per favore perdona le parolacce. Sono lieto di annunciare che grazie agli instancabili sforzi del collega Pietro Grasso e all'aiuto della CIA americana, il corrotto bastardo Berlusconi è stato arrestato e sarà processato per i suoi crimini contro il popolo._ ”  
  
The crowd practically howled with glee. Oliver tried not to shrink back as he was bombarded with thunderous applause, the flags waving in a sea of nausea-inducing moving colors.  
  
“ _My Italian is still not very good_ ,” Oliver continued in his shaky Italian when the crowd quieted a bit. “ _Please forgive me. We hope to have Berlusconi on trial by mid-February at the latest. He was lured from Moscow with the help of American intelligence, and arrested shortly after midnight this morning. He will be swiftly put onto a fair trial and brought to justice for his corruption and crimes against the Italian people._ ” The crowd roared with thunderous cheers again. “ _And yes, you can expect the next episode of my Last Week Tonight briefings to deal with this case. President Zelensky of Ukraine and I will discuss methods of fighting corruption while we tell jokes for your amusement_.” More applause. “ _Justice will be done, and democracy will be preserved. Forward, Italy!_ ”  
  
The flags waved frantically as somebody set fireworks off of a roof, the burning effigy of Berlusconi bobbing up and down as it was hefted by somebody or a group of somebodies.  
  
“Once you’ve dealt with Berlusconi, we need to address the tax code,” Oliver told his _de facto_ boss, former prosecutor Pietro Grasso, the head of the Free and Equal coalition that made up the lynchpin of Oliver’s government, as they returned into the Palazzo for a meeting. “And bringing in more refugees.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Grasso promised him. “The Pope’s on our side on both issues. There are channels I can use to get his support, that ought to put us over the edge.” He flashed Oliver a reassuring smile. “It’s going to work, _Signor_ Prime Minister. Just keep doing your educational comedy show, and we’ll make it through.”  
  
“I thought I told you to call me John,” the comedian grumbled.  
  
“I think that you deserve a little more dignity than the American President, _Signor_ Prime Minister.”  
  
***  
  
 _February 2nd. GCDC Grilled Cheese Bar, Washington, DC._  
  
“Sorry I’m late,” I say from behind my aviator shades and fake goatee. “I was planning an Australia trip, things got a little complicated.” Vinnie pulls out a chair, and I sit under the table’s umbrella, setting down our food. “Call me Ian while we’re here, by the way. Or Individual One.”  
  
“Comrade D--Ian, this is Mrs. Stevenson,” Greg Berlanti says from across the table, wearing a fake rubber nose and fake porn ‘stache. “Mrs. Stevenson, this is...Individual One.”  
  
“Call me Noelle,” the brunette cartoonist says with a grin, reaching out to shake my hand. I take it--firm grip, figures, she is an artist.  
  
“Nice to meet you. So, Greg and I want to branch out into kids’ animation and adult animation--and by the latter, I mean _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ for a slightly older audience, not _Rick and Morty_.”  
  
“He hates _Rick and Morty_ ,” Vinnie notes.  
  
“Yeah, it’s cynical trash.” I dip my sandwich in my tomato soup and take a bite. “So, basically, we want you to make superhero cartoons. I will give you support and covert funding, on the condition that you make your product gay as fuck.”  
  
“How gay are we talking?” Stevenson grins, leaning in.  
  
I point my sandwich at Berlanti. “You know how this crazy fucking bastard made _Legends of Tomorrow_ into poly lesbian fluff? Gayer than that.”  
  
“What properties do I have available?”  
  
I look to Berlanti, who grins. “I secured _Teen Titans_ and the whole Bat-stable.”  
  
“Holy _shit_ , you got Batman?”  
  
“Batman’s the Suits’ golden goose, we’re getting nearly six million regular viewers for _Supergirl_ and _Legends of Tomorrow_ now, they figure they’re going to make bank.”  
  
“Well, shit, and here I was hoping and praying for Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn...OK. Noelle, here’s the deal. You do whatever the fuck you like with Batman and the Teen Titans, and I want you to work with a guy called Stjepan Sejic on a Harley Quinn slash Poison Ivy show.”  
  
“You cover for me with the Suits so I can do things my way with the Teen Titans and Bat-family shows,” Stevenson replies.  
  
“Done.” I reach a hand out. She shakes with an electric grin. “Got some plans?”  
  
“I’m going to shamelessly mine Gail Simone, for one. Am I allowed Wonder Woman cameos?”  
  
“We’ll work on that,” Berlanti says. “The Suits are worried about ‘brand confusion’ and ‘mixing markets’, which is bullshit, but it’ll take me time to wear them down.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Stevenson nods. “Now, Mr. President...about stealing my _She-Ra_ thunder…”  
  
I hold my hands up in a placating gesture. “Hey, at least Netflix let you do that gay-ass prom episode. Though, OK, I’m kinda shipping Scorpia and Adora right now, because Scorpia needs a good woman and Adora needs somebody kind and supportive.”  
  
“Huh.” She raises an eyebrow. “That’s interesting. The point I’m going for is more, Adora needs to learn to take the time and energy to care for herself, and Catra needs to learn to care about people other than Adora. It’s about learning to heal from their emotional damage, from, you know, growing up in an abusive environment.”  
  
“Neat!” I reply with my mouth full, then swallow. “That’s exactly the kind of stuff I love. I think you’ll do great working with us. Oh, by the way, Greg, I’m having trouble casting for that _Star Trek_ project that you got me an in into. Can I borrow your casting resources?”  
  
“Keep it quiet, and yeah. What kind of talent are you looking for?”  
  
“Women, muscular or willing to bulk up, good at doing military type roles. Variety of ethnic backgrounds, preferably including people of Middle Eastern or North African descent. Guest roles, I’ll update you as they come. All of them have to be comfortable playing queer roles. Oh, and preferably gay or bisexual women.”  
  
Berlanti sips his ice water and nods. “I can do that for you. One warning--I know you like _Deep Space Nine_ , but Avery Brooks is a no-can-do.”  
  
I grimace. “Shame. Oh, well. Thanks anyway, Comrade.”  
  
“Not a problem, D--uh, Individual One.” He flashes Stevenson a grin. “Welcome to the queer media insurgents, Noelle.”  
  
“Glad to be here, Greg,” she replies with another bright smile. “I can tell that I’m going to have fun with this job.”  
  
***  
  
 _February 5th, 2019. Capitol building, Washington, DC._  
  
"...the President of the United States!"

As I'm announced, I stride in to the tune of _The Chief Is Our Bitch_ (formerly _Hail to the Chief_ ), performed by the New York City Gay Men's chorus (my invites in the audience). My Mugabe-inspired Excellent Leader outfit, deliberately tacky, clashes magnificently with my Klingon rubber forehead and wild wig. McConnell looks fit to kill. With 50 seats, he still has a majority thanks to Pence, but it was a close-run thing, and the Republicans were slaughtered in the House last year.  
  
Well. I’m going to find a way to deal with him soon enough.  
  
"Friends...Americans...jackasses," I declare after taking my spot at the podium, drawing cheers and hoots from some of my fans in the audience. "The state of our MAGA Nation is strong! We have achieved a significant victory over the forces of capitalism, and have succeeded in electing a new cohort of bigly fabulous people to Congress, who will Make Moscow Mitch Our Bitch, a key step in Making America Great Again! MAGA America!  
  
"But though we have won the battle, the great campaign is not ov--" A massive blast cuts me off mid-sentence, and the lights go out briefly as the entire room shakes. Screams split the air, and emergency lights come on as Vinnie and the Secret Service guys flood the stage.  
  
"What the _fuck_?" I try to shout, but Vinnie's already got me and is hustling me off of the podium.  
  
"Get McConnell and bring him with us, _now_!" my henchman barks. Behind us, Moscow Mitch, Speaker Pelosi, and Pence are hustled after me. "Move, move, _move_! Clay, get Vice and the Speaker to the panic room!"  
  
"The fuck's going on?" I try to shout above the fray.  
  
"No time!" Vinnie shouts back, hauling me bodily as I stumble. We spill out into the hall, Capitol Police swarming to cover the exits. "Senator McConnell, who the Hell is this?" One of the goons with McConnell, there's three surrounding him, one a Secret Service woman who I vaguely recognize and two others in suits that I don't know, as we're escorted through the halls. Pelosi and Pence go the other way--better to split up the eggs between multiple baskets.  
  
"Men from my detail, they're new," Moscow Mitch snaps. "Fresh out of Rowley."  
  
"Why the Hell wasn't I notified?"  
  
"Must've been a bureaucratic fuckup. Can you get me to safety before some goddamn terrorists shoot a hole in me, Special Agent? Or do you need to stop to flap your jaws first?"  
  
Vinnie checks a door, then motions us through into a stairwell. "Move, fast! Senator, if you have a complaint, I suggest that you write one up after this incident's been dealt with."  
  
"Yeah," I begin, preparing an insult for Mitch on the general principle that I hate that evil old fucker, but then gunfire splits the air, and the agents turn as one, drawing their guns. McConnell heads for the stairs without even ducking, damn he's in a hurry. I pull myself out of my instinctive cower and follow, hurried along by Secret Service agents.  
  
"Go, go, go!" Vinnie snaps, and we hurry down the stairs, Vinnie pushing past me and then McConnell to lead the way. His gun's out, the hammer cocked, and he aims it down the stairwell as he looks down. "We're clear, go!"  
  
Down the stairs, somebody screams as more gunshots sound. What the _fuck_ is going on?  
  
Ahead, Capitol police swarm towards an exit, somebody fallen on the ground. Guns head our way, then we're waved on as Vinnie escorts us to the next stair.  
  
"Connolly, we'll take them to Rayburn and evacuate from there," Vinnie says as we hit the stairs. McConnell's flabby jowls wobble as we stumble on a step, and Vinnie catches us. The suits follow closely; something about them's off. The guns look different from Vinnie's SIG Sauer; maybe those are the Glocks that the Secret Service are supposed to be getting?  
  
"Who the fuck's attacking during the State of the Union?" I ask, trying to cover my panic. "That's _beyond_ cliche! They made a shitty movie about that with Ice Cube for fuck's sake! Fucking _Ice Cube_!"  
  
"With respect, Donnie, _shut the fuck up and let me do my damn job_ ," Vinnie snaps, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple as he escorts us into the subway tram station. "Goddamn it, where the fuck is the tram?"  
  
"Should be here in...oh, about ten seconds," McConnell says, checking his watch. There's something _off_ about his voice. Vinnie and I turn. The Senator's nasty turtle face splits into a vicious smile, and his goons' pistols rise...  
  
"Mr. President, get down!" Vinnie shouts, and my legs buckle as he shoves me down, his gun coming up as one of McConnell's goons blows Connolly's head open, blood and bits of grey matter and bone exploding from her flaming hair. I want to scream, but nothing comes out; twin pistols _crack_ , and Vinnie goes down with a gasp, wet blood splattering my toupee as the other goon shoots him, his gun flying loose and clattering to the ground. I fall flat, not quite catching myself, and my breath huffs out of my lungs.  
  
"I've been waiting for this for a _long_ time, Trump," Moscow Mitch snarls, donning a pair of gloves and accepting a gun from the goon who shot Vinnie, who's cursing and clutching a wounded shoulder. "You just couldn't be fucking happy with the Presidency, huh? You just _had_ to fucking meddle!"  
  
"What the _fuck_ ," I wheeze. "What the fuck? What the fuck is this?"  
  
"This is the consequences to your actions," McConnell spits. His eyes are bloodshot, his left eyelid twitching Behind me, the tram arrives, and I hear boots thud out. "You shouldn't have been so friendly to the goddamn ragheads; a bunch of terrorists just attacked your State of the Union to cleanse your heresy from the world. What a tragedy that one of them got through and got you, huh?"  
  
"What the--" I scrabble backwards, Vinnie choking and wheezing on my right as he tries to staunch the bleeding from his chest. " _What_ terrorist?"  
  
"My men are bringing the scapegoat. Mutual kill with your detail chief, I think. He'll get a medal posthumously, of course. Get him up, I want to look this sonofabitch in the eyes." He kicks Vinnie's gun aside as my bodyguard reaches for it.  
  
"Yes, sir," a man growls with a thick accent, and I'm hauled to my feet by an arm under either shoulder. Another goon drops a heavy bundle to the ground and unzips it; there's a body inside, I see from the corner of my eye. His eyes are closed, but I don't see any injuries.  
  
"You're a fucking _traitor_ ," I realize.  
  
That _really_ sets Mitch off, and he jabs the pistol into my chest. "Fuck you! So I took some help from the Kremlin, it's not like I'm on Putin's payroll! _You're_ the traitor, Trump! You've _destroyed_ my America!"  
  
"I'm building a better one," I spit.  
  
He punches me in the face, hard. For such a decrepit old fuck, it actually hurts, and my lip splits on my teeth. " _Fuck_!" McConnell snarls, cradling his hand. "Mother _fucking_..." He composes himself, straightening, and shakes his hand out with a grimace. "You won't live to see it, you goddamn ingrate. I was never going to let a little pissant clown like you turn my country into some kind of commie shithole where the sheep run things instead of people who matter. I'm gonna use Pence as my rubber-stamp and undo every damn thing you've done. I'm gonna kick the gays out of the military just to spite you, and I'll have that tranny actress you like banned from every ladies' room in the United States. Hurry the fuck up!" he spits at the goon who's manhandling the scapegoat. Vinnie's wheezing reaches a fever pitch as one of the goons steps on his fingers while he tries to roll over, and he falls onto his back, a walkie-talkie clattering to the ground...  
  
"Boss!" one of the goons says urgently in accented English. McConnell turns.  
  
"What the--you fucking moron!" The Senator shoots the radio, twice, the first shot digging into the concrete instead of the walkie. "Why the Hell didn't you check him first?"  
  
"Sir, securing the target was the primary priority..."  
  
"Goddamn it. Goddamn it all to Hell." McConnell runs a hand through his thinning hair. "Shoot the fucking scapegoat and let's get out of here."  
  
"You won't get away with this," I spit. McConnell chuckles.  
  
"My men already took out the cameras." There's a _bang_ of a pistol, and I shudder, not daring to look at the unfortunate scapegoat  
  
"You son of a _bitch_ ," I hiss.  
  
The Senator's grin reaches almost to his ears, a macabre look on his ugly mug. "Wasn't easy, preparing this, even with the _Kadyrovtsy_. I was lucky to have a friend who procures escorts who pointed me to a couple of Special Agents who needed a bit of a favor, if you know what I mean. Otherwise this never would've worked." He cocks the gun, points it between my eyes, drawing a flinch, and chuckles. "What a fucking waste of life you are." He brings his arm down, and shoots Vinnie center of mass.  
  
"NO!" I try to lunge, but I'm held fast. McConnell chuckles as Vinnie flops like a dying fish, and I sob uselessly.  
  
"Good-bye, Mr. President." He lowers the gun to my heart. "I can't say it's been nice knowing you."  
  
He pulls the trigger.  
  
There's a sound of thunder.


	3. Shithole Countries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting one day late because my beloved Tobias had to get some stuff done for his TA job. Consider this a "reward" for soldiering on! :D

**_Discord private message chain, accessed 3/16/2019_  
  
Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
OK boys  
  
I’ve got a few minutes, my bodyguards let me use the toilet alone.  
  
 **MAGA+BERN=USA**  
  
what do you need, boss?  
  
 **HardcoreCommie**  
  
Ready and awaiting orders, Comrade Leader.  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
Acting POTUS’s about to have a bunch of trouble to deal with, PR stuff.  
  
 **RedFlagMarine**  
  
Busy taking care of Grandma this week, might not be able to help.  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
So we have an opening  
  
that’s fine, RFM.  
  
Gotta take some time for yourself as well as the Revolution.  
  
 **HardcoreCommie**  
  
what he said^^^  
  
 **RedFlagMarine**  
  
  
  
 **MAGA+BERN=USA**  
  
lemme know if you need me or some of my boys to come give you a hand, RFM, we terminal lances gotta stick together.  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
So we have an opening, and I’m thinking we can actually do this, and get it right this time.  
  
I’ve been researching poisons and my sister and mom and my “aunts” let me grow castor beans for my science project. So I think I can cook up some ricin, and show you guys how.  
  
 **HardcoreCommie**  
  
We’re going to take out the traitor reactionary?  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
Yeah. Moscow Mitch is going down.  
  
Even if it kills me.  
  
 **RedFlagMarine**  
  
You doing OK, Comrade Leader?  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
Yeah. I have therapy.  
  
 **MAGA+BERN=USA**  
  
  
  
 **HardcoreCommie**  
  
Your dad’s gonna be OK, man. He’s a tough customer, from what you told me.  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
Yeah. He survived those other guys who tried to kill him too.  
  
Still scared.  
  
They still have him in the coma.  
  
 **RedFlagMarine**  
  
We’re here for you, man.  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
OK so the plan rn is I take my science project and make some ricin. Might have to overnight one of you guys the stuff.  
  
 **Donniefan1000**  
  
My brother’s a cop, he has some stuff from a meth lab as a souvenir once they were done using it as evidence.  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
Ok. I can overnight you the stuff by snail mail.  
  
We’re going to poison a letter, send it to Moscow Mitch.  
  
Take him out.  
  
Nobody hurts mt dsasdeasd  
  
Stupid phone  
  
Nobody hurts Comrade Donnie.  
  
 **HardcoreCommie**  
  
AMEN!  
  
 **Donniefan1000**  
  
FORWARD THE REVOLUTION!  
  
 **MAGA+BERN=USA**  
  
Traitors and assassins deserve to fry!  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
gdi they’re telling me to hurry up, gtg.  
  
 **RedFlagMarine**  
  
I hope he’s OK.  
  
 **MAGA+BERN=USA**  
  
Yeah, his dad and Comrade Donnie being shot almost the same day?  
  
Bad stuff  
  
 **Donniefan1000**  
  
Amen.  
  
 **HardcoreCommie**  
  
Yeah, that’s really crappy luck.  
  
Let’s hope that this actually works. He’s right, you know, we need to send a message to all the corporate scum trying to destroy our America.  
  
 **MAGA+BERN=USA**  
  
damn right  
  
nobody fucks with our POTUS  
  
 **Donniefan1000**  
  
Freedom ain’t free.  
  
 **MAGA+BERN=USA**  
  
BREAK THE CHAINS!!!  
  
 **HardcoreCommie**  
  
I feel kinda bad about it since Comrade Donnie says political violence is bad. But.  
  
it’s the crooked bastard who tried to kill him to help the corpos and the Russians.  
  
Fuck that guy.  
  
 **Donniefan1000**  
  
  
  
***  
  
 _“Are you sure about this, Madam President? Do we have any actionable intelligence that Mohammed bin Salman was actually behind the attack?”  
  
“I don’t really give a shit, Secretary. The public wants action and they want it yesterday. Going up against Russia is suicide, and Mitch gave us a fantastic excuse for a short victorious war. Either way, Congress is all but certain to give me the declaration, if the Republicans know what’s good for them, so we’re going ahead. Cheer up, it’ll be over before you know it.”  
  
*barely audible* “Where have I heard _that _bullshit before…”_  
  
\--Audio recording of a conversation allegedly between Secretary of Defense James Mattis and Acting President Nancy Pelosi, leaked 2031.  
  
***  
  
 _“The armed forces of our invincible and righteous kingdom shall never falter, you are not hearing bombs, you are hearing divine thunder as our heroic Crown Prince personally leads the righteous defense against the cowardly and fiendish infidel invaders! In only two weeks we have pushed the American swine back to their own shores, there is no conflict in Saudi Arabia, the Americans and their Houthi and Iranian puppets will be swiftly defeated by the glorious fist of--”_  
  
\--Last broadcast of “Riyadh Rick” (real name Abdullah bin Amer al-Sawahah), Saudi minister of communications and de facto propaganda chief, during the Fall of Riyadh.  
  
***  
  
 _“...President Putin’s strong and masculine blood has sustained him through a dose of radiation that would have instantly killed lesser men, he is already riding horseback and exercising regularly as he prepares to return to his normal duties. Rumors of his illness have been greatly exaggerated, likely by American liberal anarchist Antifa malcontents…”_  
  
\--TASS, March 20th, 2019  
  
***  
  
 _“What the FUCK is this bullshit, you little bitch? Do you have any idea what you just made me look like, you leaking fuck?”  
  
“I’m not your sycophant, Madam _Acting _President, I’m loyal to the duly elected President of the United States, Comrade Donnie. And you know damn well his opinion on corporations and the Iraq War!”  
  
“How the fuck am I supposed to justify the formation of an independent republic that’ll likely hate us? We just invaded their goddamn country!”  
  
“Because _you _wanted a war to look decisive to the public!”  
  
“Shut up, admin, I’m talking to the fucking Press Secretary. Do you have any idea how deep I can bury your career, you ungrateful little bitch?”  
  
“Madam President, may I offer a suggestion?”  
  
“It’d better be--” *inaudible* “I mean, go ahead, Secretary Mattis.”  
  
“There’s simply no way to make another Iraq work, Madam President. We need to treat this like a Marshal Plan situation. We’re already in, we won. Now we facilitate the setup of an indigenous government--not one we prop up, we can’t afford another Iraq or Vietnam--make sure the pilgrimage season goes off without incident, and then get the Hell out. Now, last I checked the pilgrimage is in early August, so I can handle that with Secretary Walker, but if we don’t get the Hell out within a year we’ll be there for decades, pissing off everybody in the vicinity. I’m already playing catchup getting the administration set up and making sure we don’t piss off the locals, there’s no way we can sustain another unstable puppet state in the current world environment.”  
  
“So you’re saying I should go back to this idiocy the nut job cooked up.”  
  
“President Trump may have some mental health issues, but his plan’s a good one in this case, Madam President. We are occupying two of the holiest sites of a major world religion, followed by close to, what, two billion people? There is absolutely no way that that is sustainable. Nor can we sustain anything less than a clearly independent state with no US interference in its elections for any extended period. I strongly advise you to put emotions aside and stick to President Trump’s plan.” *clearing throat* “Also, according to the CNN polling I saw coming in here, the public is strongly in favor of the President’s plan and sees it as a face-saving way out of the Saudi situation.”  
  
*inaudible*  
  
“Ma’am?”  
  
“Fine. You win. Make sure the pilgrimage goes off without a hitch. Do whatever you’ve gotta do. I’ve got to do some damage control and get Bernie Sanders and that Tlaib girl off my ass.”  
  
“Understood, Madam President. I’ll need to set up regular reminders to occupation forces, I think I’ll have to handle those myself. Ms. el-Amin, with me please. We have a lot to discuss.”  
  
“Of course, General.”_  
  
\--Leaked audio of Acting President Nancy Pelosi, Secretary of Defense James Mattis, and other White House officials, leaked 2031.  
  
***  
  
I swim to awareness slowly, a faint beeping in my ears. Voices surround me, I don’t recognize them.  
  
“Damn it, he’s waking up!”  
  
“Get me another sedative drip, now. And double-check his meds--goddamn it, we’re going to have to check his vitals every day, at least until we figure out how the Hell he got rid of that clogged aorta.”  
  
“He has been working out more?” Younger. Male. The second voice was female, the first one another guy.  
  
Voice two, the woman, snorts. “Two years ago, his aorta looked like a cannoli packed with lard. Now it’s clear as a teenager’s--that doesn’t just happen in two years without medication. Especially not with his stress levels. Sedative drip! Hurry up!” Something in my throat. I can’t talk around it. Pain in my neck near the front.  
  
I try to move, to open my eyes, to call for Vinnie. Harsh light assaults my eyeballs, a throbbing pain making itself known in my chest…  
  
“Easy, Donnie.” Vinnie? Here? Where is here? “Easy, kid. Let the docs take care of you. It’s just some sedatives, you’re going to be fine.”  
  
“Don’t move so much, Mr. Wilson! If you’re going to risk your own health during your recovery for the sake of the President, I’ll have to move you--”  
  
“Sedative drip, ma’am.”  
  
“Thanks.” A faint pressure on my chest. “It’s alright, Mr. President. You’re safe. Just go back to sleep…”  
  
I want to try again to say something, but the darkness swims up to claim me.  
  
***  
  
I swim to consciousness slowly. The beeping’s softer this time, slower. Nothing blocking my speech. Less pain in my neck. Pain in my chest, too.  
  
“Ffff…” I rasp. “Vvv...Vinnie?”  
  
“Here, kid,” my henchman says quietly. I turn my head laboriously to my left, blinking to clear the harsh light. We’re in a pleasantly appointed room, albeit in hospital beds. He’s looking a little pale and worn, but gives me a thumbs-up with a heart-monitor clip on his thumb. Baby Vinnie, now sporting a full head of brown hair, sleeps at his side, the plush panda I got her for her birthday in 2018 tucked snugly under her arm. “How much do you remember?”  
  
“I...you’re alive?”  
  
“Yeah. Bullet to the lung and one to the small intestine. I’m still in physical therapy, but my guts are mostly healed up and they’re letting me go back to my usual workout routine next month. What do you remember?”  
  
I frown. “Moscow Mitch. He had a gun, he...he shot me!”  
  
“Yep. Grazed your heart. You’ve been in a medically induced coma for almost two months.”  
  
Two… “What day is today?”  
  
“April first. You’re in Walter Reed. I insisted on being next to you. Liz was pissed but Mattis got her and Natalie allowed in.”  
  
“Pence?”  
  
“25thed after he got caught on a hot mic talking about pardoning McConnell because you’re the ‘antichrist’. Nancy Pelosi’s Acting President.”  
  
“Shit.” I try to run a hand through my hair, but it only goes a few inches before the stiffness overwhelms me and it slumps to my side. “Moscow Mitch?”  
  
“Gitmo, for protective custody. There were eight assassination attempts--MAGA Donnie Army, American Peoples’ Liberation Army, Provisional Armed Forces of the American Workers’ States, Free American Army, Peoples’ Continental Army, three by the Revolutionary Communist Workers’ Army of America. He’s been charged with two counts of attempted murder, one of murder, conspiracy charges, and high treason.”  
  
“How did he not…”  
  
“I got his entire confession on an open walkie-talkie line to Agent Clay. She and her team tagged his goons--they were Chechen paras, part of Ramzan Kadyrov’s private army, the attackers on the outside of the Capitol were goons from a far-right group called the Three-Percenters. McConnell surrendered, tried to blame the Chechens and a Russian plot but one of them survived and is testifying against him. Pelosi gave Clay a medal.”  
  
Fucking hell. “Where’s Mrs. Vinnie?”  
  
He indicates his other side; I squint, and see the tip of what might be her hair over his body. “Passed out here on a chair. She was minding the kid for hours.”  
  
“Did we have a war with Russia?”  
  
“Not yet. McConnell blamed the Saudis and the Russians, so Pelosi found your war plans and invaded Saudi Arabia as Bone-Saw tried to deny it. I kinda believe the rich cunt, but it didn’t matter. War lasted two weeks. There are American troops in Mecca, Fatima had to release your occupation plan to the Internet because Pelosi wanted to install a puppet regime and let Amazon and Exxon-Mobil go hog-wild. Pelosi backtracked so we’re on track for your plan, Mattis is prepping logistics for the Hajj season and we’re trying to publicize it so that we don’t have another war. Medvedyev denied culpability and Pelosi didn’t want to start the nukes flying with Russia so we’re throwing sanctions back and forth at the UN.”  
  
“Well...at least we’re alive.”  
  
He chuckles softly. “Yeah. The Russian economy’s in the shitter and Putin’s clearly losing it. John Oliver and Volodymyr Zelensky were about to go onstage for a charity episode of _Last Week Tonight_ two weeks ago and were nearly assassinated by a guy who we think was a deep-cover Russian asset, Zelensky did the show alone, Oliver’s in the hospital but stable. The head of the GRU turned up dead two days ago, hunting accident.”  
  
“Hunting accident?”  
  
“47 bullets to the back of the head and torso. Tragic accident.”  
  
“Jesus.”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“Israel?”  
  
“Mostly peaceful. Mattis and Walker had a photo op with Barkat to make it clear that we won’t tolerate any more fuckery.”  
  
I guess it’s never too late for a state founded in an act of ethnic cleansing to be forced to apologize at nuke-point and start acting like a modern, human-rights-respecting nation. “Anything else from my cultists?”  
  
“There was a shootout between a neo-Nazi group called the Totalenkrieg Division and your cultists, three injured, no deaths. Pelosi declared a state of emergency over that. Also, the assassination attempts on McConnell.”  
  
“Anything else I should know?” I’m exhausted with the effort of talking, but I need to know as much as I can. Even though I can’t do squat.  
  
“The Dow dropped 200 points in a day and the Chinese economy apparently is faltering. British election happened.”  
  
“Oh, shit, what happened?”  
  
“Lib-dems were nearly wiped out. Dennis Skinner’s Prime Minister. Somebody caught Tory youth activists talking about ‘peasant hunts’, Jo Swinson was publicly egged after she accepted the Labour defectors into her party, and the Brexit Party imploded.”  
  
“Holy shit.”  
  
“Yeah. Skinner’s first speech is tomorrow.”  
  
“...wake me up for that, will you?”  
  
“Sure thing, kid. Sure thing.” He pets his daughter’s head with a fond smile.  
  
“Thanks, Vinnie.” My eyelids are already slipping closed with the effort of staying awake. “You’re a pal.”  
  
***  
  
 _April 2nd._  
  
“Mr. President,” Pelosi says with a canned grin as she enters, Agent Clay following along with Pelosi’s own Secret Service detail. “It’s good to see you awake.”  
  
“Acting President.” I put my Jell-O aside. Mrs. Vinnie went out to take Baby Vinnie to a routine doctor’s appointment before I woke up this morning, so it’s been just me and Vinnie eating and shooting the breeze about whether _Taliban USA_ or _California Uber Alles_ is the better Jello Biafra protest song. “How fucked is my country?”  
  
“Do you want me to start with how your cultists got into a street fight with neo-Nazis or how that doctor who was implicated in the ICE forced hysterectomy case got beaten so badly he had to go into intensive care after some people recognized him in a restaurant? Because it gets crazier from there.”  
  
“Jesus fucking christ and all 13 of his gay fuckbuddies.” I lean back into my pillow. “OK. Neo-Nazis?”  
  
“Some scum called the Totalenkrieg Division. They were marching with another group called the Proud Boys and shot at counterprotesters. Your cultists were in the other crowd and fired back. Three dead, two in the hospital. That was last week.”  
  
“If my press secretary hasn’t already issued a blanket condemnation, she needs to get the Hell on that ball.” I sigh. “The doctor?”  
  
“Your cultists again. One of them was on a date, she recognized the man, showed her friends on her phone, they told other diners, things got out of hand.”  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” I sigh. “OK. I hear you invaded Saudi Arabia?”  
  
Pelosi shrugs. “The people wanted a war. I delivered. And the Russians didn’t nuke us.”  
  
“Isn’t Putin dying?”  
  
“Still clinging to life, the CIA thinks.”  
  
“OK. Why the Hell did you invade Saudi? My plans were an early draft meant more to intimidate Bone-Saw than anything.”  
  
Pelosi grits her teeth. “Hard decisions had to be made. The people were baying for blood.”  
  
“Nothing to do with Exxon-Mobil wanting oil access?”  
  
She glares at me. ‘I should probably give you a full update on national security issues, Mr. President.”  
  
It’s a mess. France and Germany’s governments are as popular as soggy cabbage due to the increasingly global leftist surge. Italy is chomping at the bit for World War III with Russia. Volodymyr Zelensky arrested four oligarchs and forcibly reorganized their holdings into anarcho-socialist communes with the help of American intelligence agents, and Pelosi’s grouchy that my administration’s wasting the “opportunity for American business”. Israel and Palestine had a total of seven spree killers seeking to restart the conflict I stopped before both governments working together caught the culprits for trial. India had an eleven-day general strike after a high-profile rape case infuriated the population. Chinese censors practically shut down their social media after protests flared up practically everywhere amid economic shockwaves. Nigeria’s upstart left-wing party posted a strong third and was accused of spoiling the election by _both_ major parties. Zelensky has to face a regular election after the recall that led to his first election last year, and is expected to win in a landslide. The Estonian “centrists” who collaborated with fascists in my alter-universe memories were nearly wiped out amid a record low turnout election, almost certainly because of the CIA leaking damaging information on the centrists’ willingness to work with crazy far-right nuts. Protests in Cuba demanding democracy because apparently when you talk about what a glorious peoples’ paradise your country is all the time, people start to wonder why they aren’t allowed to vote. The Vietnamese are looking to us for friendship to fuck over China, so the usual there, ironically enough.  
  
What a world.  
  
“...and we’re closing in on ‘Frozone’s Nemesis’, as he calls himself, the leader of the Revolutionary Communist Workers’ Army of America paramilitary cabal,” Pelosi finishes.  
  
I frown. “Wait a second. Frozone’s Nemesis? From _The Incredibles_? Who was that guy Frozone bitches about in that one scene--Baron von Ruthless?”  
  
“We suspect that it’s actually a reference to heat, we’re looking into people with related names, Mr. President.”  
  
“Well, what do we know about this crazy guy?”  
  
“We suspect that he’s a white male, but he only ever contacts his followers on Skype and by anonymous 4chan posts. The CIA’s having trouble getting their hands on his IP address.”  
  
“And he ordered 3 hit attempts on Moscow Mitch.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Something niggles at the back of my mind. “Annie!” I call as loudly as I can manage with minimal pain.  
  
“Mr. President?” My admin sticks her head in the door.  
  
“Get my kids in here, will you?”  
  
Tiffany and Barron are ushered in. The latter, wearing a red and black scarf with a white anarchist A on it, tucks a smartphone into his pants pocket as he does so, an unreadable expression on his face. Tiffany, in a crisp blue suit (must be a lawyer thing) looks just plain worried.  
  
“Have either of you guys been fucking around on 4chan?”  
  
“...no?” Tiffany says in confusion. Barron’s poker face is flawlessly blank, almost...practiced.  
  
I look over to Vinnie. Then back at Trump’s kids. “I need a private moment with my son.”  
  
“Mr. President--” Pelosi starts.  
  
“I need a minute,” I insist. She sighs peevishly, but acquiesces.  
  
“Please be quick.”  
  
When she shuts the door behind her, I give Barron an icy glare. “Kid,” I start. He squirms a little in place.  
  
“I hope you’re feeling better, Dad?”  
  
“Kid, did you organize three straight assassination attempts against Mitch McConnell?”  
  
“Uh...I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He doesn’t meet my eyes.  
  
“Last chance before I have you charged with attempted murder and sent to juvie.”  
  
He squirms in place again, looks at Vinnie, and groans. “It was supposed to be four, but the freaking MAGA Donnie Army beat my people to the poison-in-his-dinner plan.”  
  
I gape. “Kid. What the _fuck_?”  
  
“He tried to kill you!” he bursts out. “I _like_ you, man!” His voice cracks with incipient puberty. “My old dad was a jerk, and Mom kept me away from him because he was a mean jerk who liked to hurt people. And you’re _cool_ , and you take care of me and Tiffany, and you play D&D with us even though I totally know you get frustrated when I minmax but you keep letting me do it anyway, and you’re trying to fix the country, and that turtle-faced sociopath tried to kill you because you’re trying to fix America!”  
  
Jesus fucking christ. I heave my leaden arm up to rub the bridge of my nose. “Fucksake, kid...you know this is all kinds of wrong, right?”  
  
He crosses his arms mutinously.  
  
“Yes, even if it’s Moscow Mitch it’s fucking wrong, kid.”  
  
“... _fine_ ,” he admits. “But I don’t _want_ it to be wrong.”  
  
“ _Kid_ …” I moan with the effort of breathing. “Fuck. Kid, stop sending cultists with guns to kill McConnell. Tell them to, I don’t know, help old ladies across streets or something. I am deadly fucking serious about this. I will literally send you to juvie and then to military school.”  
  
“I can’t just let him get away with this!” he protests. “He tried to murder you, I _need_ to get us some payback!”  
  
“I don’t need to kill Moscow Mitch to have my revenge on him. My revenge will be the annihilation of the corrupt order he built. He will _watch_ as the world leaves him behind, an irrelevant fossil.” I cough painfully, and take a labored breath. “Now tell the fucking cultists to stand down and focus on passing your goddamn classes, kid, or I’ll have you charged with domestic terrorism.”  
  
Barron grumbles but acquiesces.  
  
I feel like the goddamn maid sometimes, I swear.  
  
***  
  
“On in 3,” Fatima says from behind the camera. “2. 1. We’re live!”  
  
“Hey, everybody!” I rasp from the bed with a little wave, Vinnie giving a thumbs up from the other bed. “It’s your pal, Comrade Donnie! First of all, I’m alive, and I’ll be back in the Oval Office in a jiffy! Might be in a wheelchair, but I’ve done that before and I’ll do it again. Now, first off, lemme just say, cut the political violence. Stop trying to assassinate Moscow Mitch. Let the courts deal with him. Stop getting into fights with neo-Nazis. I need my fans to be alive to vote for me, not dead martyrs.  
  
“Second. JK Rowling is an elitist transphobic shitbag. Fuck her.  
  
“Third. I’ve been reading some letters, and somebody asked me why I support immigration if illegal immigrants drive wages down. Well, the reason why the big corpos hate legal immigration but love illegal immigration, is because they can bully and abuse illegal immigrants and force them to work for less money than legal immigrants and American citizens.” I take a labored breath, and Fatima hustles up to stick a straw in my mouth so I can drink. “Thanks, Fatima, you’re the best. Now. These are mostly desperate young women, fleeing the gang violence in Central America that’s really bad right now because the NRA bribed Congress to force those countries to let our shitbag gun corpos sell guns to all sorts of gangbangers and criminals and rapists down there. Now, I believe that every red-blooded patriotic American man would jump to help a woman in need. So what we gotta do, and what I’ve been doing, is opening legal immigration way up, while the Democrats in congress give us a bill fining any company that uses undocumented labor a million bucks per refugee exploited. That way the corpos can’t abuse people so much, and what these immigrants are doing, they’re buying things, they’re buying American, that raises our GDP, ‘cause of supply and demand.” I take another labored breath. “See, the more demand there is, the more jobs there are in making the supply. So these immigrants, they buy things, that means more jobs! And I want to create as many jobs as possible. Good jobs, good-paying jobs. Gut the rich and use the proceeds to fund the proletariat. Workers of America, we’re gonna do it. Gonna win so much. You’re gonna be tired of winning, so tired of winning, we’re gonna win so much.”  
  
I gather myself again, wincing at the pain in my chest. “I think I need more morphine. Yeah, so, Moscow Mitch shot me, grazed my heart. But this is my purgatory, America. My atonement for...I don’t know, my suicide, that one time I hurt that girl’s feelings really badly out of irrational fear when I was 14...those fights my brother and I had as a teenager...something. Whatever. I’m not leaving anytime soon. I am here, burdened with glorious purpose, and yes I stole that line from _The Avengers_ , but anyway. I will not save you, America. But I will help you save yourselves. Now get out there and ruin Jeff Bezos! A protest in front of every Amazon warehouse, that’s how we’ll show the corpos. Go on and speak up, exercise your rights! There’s a corrupt system to... _fuck_ that hurts...to take down! MAGA socialism!”  
  
Fatima pats my shoulder gently, then hustles over to shut off the camera. “And cut. Good work, Ian.”  
  
“Thanks, Fatima. You doing OK?”  
  
She grimaces. “Eh. Pelosi’s making my life pretty tough, Annie and I had to pull some dirty tricks to avoid another Iraq. On the plus side, we’re on track to get out in a year.”  
  
“Good.” I shift in place, and hiss in pain from one of the many, many surgery-related aches and pains I’ve got going on. “Oh, I nearly forgot. When I’m able to leave, set up a meet for me and AMLO. Sierra Madre Occidental. I’ll sent you specific coordinates. Wanna abuse my luck again.”  
  
“I’ll...have Annie pencil it in.” She looks a little exasperated but not terribly surprised at my inanity. “Another rare animal?”  
  
“I mean, I found an ivory-bill, didn’t I? Hey, did you guys get in touch with the Australia Zoo people about that kangaroo?”  
  
“Annie knows about that, I’ve been busy trying to unfuck the PR situation.” She gives me a gentle one-armed hug, kneeling next to my bed. “Want me to send her in?”  
  
“Yeah. I gotta sign off on it personally to maximize the chances of my luck working. There are three targets--lesser stick-nest rat, central rock rat, and desert rat-kangaroo. Use my personal sign-off, regular check-ins, and all my money. See if that works.”  
  
“Nobody’s going to believe this if it actually works.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter. If it works, the animals’ll be there.” I pat her back. “Thanks, Fatima.”  
  
“Anytime, Ian.”  
  
We should probably talk about our relationship status sometime, but not when I’m in a hospital bed healing from open-heart surgery.  
  
***  
  
 _Westminster Palace, London._  
  
Prime Minister Dennis Skinner shuffled his papers, standing from the bench as all of Britain watched with bated breath. “Mr. Speaker,” he said to the man in the seat at the top of the room as he stood next to the great table that dominated the hall.  
  
“Mr. Skinner,” Jeremy Corbyn replied, looking the most rested he had in over a year. John Bercow had retired the day after the election, mooning Parliament on his way out the door, and left to a pleasant cottage in the Scottish Highlands, leaving Jeremy Corbyn to be voted in by the barely-old-enough-to-serve new Labour members who now packed the benches. Corbyn, exhausted after the betrayal of the “Independent Group”, had almost died of laughter, then accepted.  
  
“Well, since we’ve told Black Rod to bugger off to spend her day with the Queen or whatever else Black Rods are supposed to do, I daresay it’s time to roll up our sleeves and get to work,” Skinner addressed the assembled Parliament. “We must move swiftly to seize the assets of corrupt tax-evaders and multinational corporations, use this money to subsidize and stabilize our economy during our necessary transition to absolute democracy of the workplace, implement a comprehensive plan to protect and preserve the equal rights of all Britons regardless of ethnicity, appearance, faith, gender identity, sexuality, economic status, or political beliefs, and begin restructuring our Union’s government into a more federal structure so as to better represent the four nations of Britain. If I had my way we’d bin the royals, too, especially that posh child-rapist Andrew Windsor, and become a republic, but it’s far more important to secure the rights of our workers, protect vulnerable minorities, and reinforce the stability and fairness of British democracy.”  
  
Jaws hung open across the hall. The sheer audacity of Skinner’s agenda and flippant remarks left even Boris Johnson speechless.  
  
“We shan’t allow capitalist exploitation, elitist neoliberal half-measures, and authoritarian ultra-nationalism to continue to sabotage our democracy!” Skinner thundered, wrinkled fist striking the table. “We shall not continue to support foreign regimes that spit upon human rights! We shall not continue to allow the wealthy and powerful to use that power to attack our most vulnerable citizens! We shall not continue to allow a pack of chiselers and liars to use as scapegoats the tired proletariat from elsewhere who yearn only to breathe free British air and plant their crops in fertile British soil! We shall not continue to allow multi-national corporations to subvert our laws to line their own pockets! We shall prove that there’s a better way forward than the exploitative furnace of capitalism! We shall not allow the treasonous elements who attempted to murder my counterpart, the American President, to destroy our Britain!  
  
“I know that we’ve found ourselves in a bit of a tight spot, but I know we shall prevail! I’ve seen Britain survive the Blitz and show Hitler what free working men can do in a fight! I’ve seen Britain survive Maggie Thatcher and her crypto-fascist thuggery in Ulster! I’ve seen Britain survive the corruption and hypocrisy of Blair and Dodgy Dave, and I know damnably well that if we come together as a nation, if we come together for national equality and the spread of democracy, Britain can survive anything!”  
  
Dozens of the new wave of Labour surged to their feet with cheers and applause, the rest of the assembled MPs left speechless. Skinner turned to his audience with a smile.  
  
“Now let’s get Brexit done and get back to work! Britain’s not going to fix herself!”  
  
***  
  
 _ **COMRADE DONNIE IS AWAKE!!!!**  
  
Our great President has survived the treacherous assault of counter-revolutionary forces and will soon return to lead the Revolution!  
  
 **Did Bezos back Moscow Mitch?**  
  
Waiters allege secret meeting shortly before assassination attempt.  
  
 **Who is TAnon, and can we trust them?**  
  
The leaker is loyal to the People, but we know little else._  
  
\--Headlines of _Jacobin_ , April 3rd, 2019.  
  
 _ **TRUMP AWAKENS**  
  
President Trump gives brief televised statement from his hospital bed, doctors claim his recovery is “proceeding well”  
  
 **Secretary of Defense promises “safe, secure Hajj” in attempted conciliation**  
  
American military administration mobilizes security and logistical forces as planning begins for pilgrimage season, Middle East remains restive.  
  
 **Acting President pledges “swift withdrawal” from occupied Arabia**  
  
“We will be out within one year of the fall of Riyadh,” Pelosi states.  
  
 **Inside TAnon, the new conspiracy theory taking over the online left**  
  
Anonymous self-proclaimed “medium-term White House resident”encourages aggressive opposition to American corporations, blames “statist capitalism” and “entrenched, corrupt system of corrupt politicians” for President Trump’s near-assassination._  
  
\--Headlines of _The New York Times_ , April 3rd, 2019  
  
 _ **CNN spends 57th straight day playing reenactments of assassination attempt for 8 hours straight**_  
  
\-- _The Onion_ headline, retracted and junked after CNN in fact did exactly that, April 3rd, 2019  
  
***  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
OK guys. Dad’s woken up and he told me he’s going to send me to juvie if I keep having you guys try to assassinate McConnell.  
  
Also his admin talked to me and I’m kinda putting you guys at risk. I guess I didn’t think of that because I was super mad but now I kinda feel like a big jerk. So. I’m sorry.  
  
 **RedFlagMarine**  
  
Nah, Comrade Leader, we’re good. We’re ready to die for the People.  
  
 **HardcoreCommie**  
  
^^^what he said.  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
Yeah. Still.  
  
Anyway dad said I should tell you to do something “productive”.  
  
So. Uh.  
  
IDK  
  
There’s a group that my sister volunteers for that helps refugees with food while the Work For America guys are building houses and stuff  
  
So I’m going to be doing that.  
  
 **RedFlagMarine**  
  
  
  
You’re a good guy, Comrade Leader.  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
I sure don’t feel like it.  
  
 **Donniefan1000**  
  
Wait  
  
Your dad woke up the same day Comrade Donnie did?  
  
 **MAGA+BERN=USA**  
  
I was kinda wondering about that too  
  
 **HardcoreCommie**  
  
Holy shit you’re right  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
Uh  
  
 **RedFlagMarine**  
  
...Comrade Leader, is your dad _**Comrade Donnie**_???  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
yeah  
  
 **MAGA+BERN=USA**  
  
holy shit  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
I’m Barron  
  
Moscow Mitch tried to kill my Dad  
  
And he’s not my real dad, he’s somebody else in that guy’s body  
  
But my real dad was a shithead  
  
(don’t tell my dad I said that word, he wants to be a good parent to prove something to my mom or something)  
  
And my dad, my new dad, he’s great. He lets me min-max in D&D and only shoots me with DM lightning a little bit. And sometimes he takes me and Tiffany on cool trips, like the time we went birdwatching in Colorado and the time we went and just lay in the moss in the mountains near Seattle for an hour or two and the time he took us to Las Vegas and I got to eat at Gordon Ramsay’s restaurant for the TV show.  
  
And like, he’s kinda a mess and a bit crazy  
  
but he tries  
  
And that’s more than my real dad ever did  
  
 **Donniefan1000**  
  
Jesus  
  
 **RedFlagMarine**  
  
I’m so sorry, kid.  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
Don’t be, my real dad was a monster.  
  
He was dumb and mean and greedy and he hurt people. A lot.  
  
So.  
  
Yeah.  
  
Dad woke up and told me to stop sending you guys to kill Moscow Mitch.  
  
He wants the guy to watch as he beats him.  
  
Beats him by destroying the corrupt stuff moscow mitch did.  
  
 **HardcoreCommie**  
  
Dude that’s actually a great idea  
  
 **MAGA+BERN=USA**  
  
Yeah why didn’t we think of that?  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
So yeah. He wants you guys to go do something useful and nice instead of trying to kill Mitch McConnell. Or he’s going to have me sent to juvie and charged with domestic terrorism. He’s, uh, actually really pissed.  
  
 **RedFlagMarine**  
  
Shit  
  
 **HardcoreCommie**  
  
Oh crap.  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
Yeah.  
  
So, uh, just go and help feed people, right?  
  
I’m gonna try to do the same.  
  
Tiffany says I need volunteer hours for college anyway. Since I’m starting high school next year.  
  
 **Donniefan1000**  
  
That’s a good idea, Comrade Leader.  
  
You ever need a hand, you just call us and we’ll deal with it for you, OK?  
  
 **Frozone’s Nemesis**  
  
Thanks man  
  
But I think my dad would be pissed at that.  
  
 **RedFlagMarine**  
  
...good point.  
  
***  
  
 _April 5th._  
  
“I tell you, Vinnie,” I opine over my tapioca, “Comrade Greg really went above and beyond.” On-screen, three women try to escape an evil magical IKEA in one’s head.  
  
“This is _such_ a head-f-- _fffuuuuudge_ ,” my bodyguard replies, minding the toddler curled up under his arm. “I kinda like it though.”  
  
“It’s such a good idea,” I agree. “Totally made on drugs, though.”  
  
“Oh, yeah.”  
  
Baby Vinnie sighs with exhaustion and tucks herself tighter into Vinnie. Vinnie rubs her back with a fond smile.  
  
“If you ever need anything for her, you come to me, yeah?”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind, kid.” My badass friend looks over as the show goes to commercial. “I still don’t understand how Berlanti got polyamory on cable TV.”  
  
“The CW basically lets us do our own thing now. We really bring in the ratings, mostly because I’m an attention black hole.”  
  
“Fair enough. You got the card, right?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s really sweet.” A bunch of the actors and production people sent me a get well soon card. And pictures. Berlanti, being a nice guy for a Hollywood producer, got every Arrowverse episode since I got shot tagged with a dedication plaque wishing me a speedy recovery. I need to get him a really nice gift basket for this Christmas.  
  
“Vinnie?”  
  
“Yeah, kid?”  
  
“Where the fuck do I go from here?”  
  
“You’ll figure it out, kid. You always do.”  
  
“Yeah.” I grimace as the commercial goes on. “I sure hope so.”


	4. We Got It Aroused

_April 7th._  
  
“ _Comrade_!” Greg Berlanti says over the video call with a grin. “ _Glad to see you recovering!_ ” Behind him, the _Supergirl_ cast waves.  
  
“Good to see you and these awesome nerds kicking ass still!” I rasp, giving them a weak thumbs-up. “How’s viewership?”  
  
“ _Hovering around five million. Solid ratings overall. You feeling any better?_ ”  
  
I shrug as best I can. “Eh, I had open heart surgery. Wasn’t pretty. Doing better than most, though. Hey, I appreciate the dedications on each episode. Chyler, Nicole, how’re you two doing? Also, love the rainbow shirt.”  
  
“ _Thanks_!” Leigh replies. “ _Uh, I got a standing ovation at a fan convention. That was new._ ”  
  
“ _Pain in the ass to keep it on schedule, they were cheering for five minutes straight_ ,” Berlanti remarks. “ _Well, not straight straight, but you know what I mean._ ” Everybody shares a chuckle at that. “ _As problems go, I’d rather have rabid fans than lack of excitement. It’s not even really a_ problem _, at that. Also our numbers with LGBT fans are through the roof_.”  
  
“Good stuff, good stuff.” I yawn. “Ugh, sorry. Been a longass day. Well, couple of months. Nicole, you doing OK?”  
  
“ _Aside from the horny dorks thirsting after me on Reddit and Instagram? Which I don’t even mind anymore, honestly. Almost helps with dysphoria_.”  
  
“Fringe benefits, huh?”  
  
“ _Something like that. Hey, I heard they found more of your woodpeckers!_ ”  
  
“Yeah! Only six so far, but that’s enough to give half the ornithologists in the country heart attacks from glee.” My next Cunning Plan (tm) involves another woodpecker...and a dolphin...and then that dumbfuck idea in Australia… “I’m literally the luckiest dude on Earth, apparently.” I gesture awkwardly to my bed-bound form. “Sure don’t feel like it, but then, I can walk into any casino in Vegas and bankrupt it in an hour, so…” I shrug.  
  
 _“How about I send you copies of some of the fan works I’ve been sent to cheer you up?_ ” Leigh suggests.  
  
“I’d appreciate that,” I tell her honestly. “Any good ones?”  
  
McGrath makes an extended throat-clearing noise while flushing and looking offscreen. Benoist raises an eyebrow at her, hiding a smile behind one hand. Several of the others stifle chuckles.  
  
“ _Outside of Katie’s fanfiction that she thought we didn’t know about until last week?_ ” Leigh chuckles. “ _Some really nice Alex art, actually. There are a lot of drawings of me in rainbow costumes._ ”  
  
“That’s kinda cute,” I admit. She nods.  
  
“ _Yeah, my kids get a real kick out of them. Hey, speaking of--are your kids doing alright?_ ”  
  
“Well, Barron’s a domestic terrorist and I’m half sure Tiffany is starting conspiracy theories based on what I’ve heard about this ‘TAnon’ bullshit. So. Yeah.”  
  
“ _...Barron’s a what?_ ”  
  
“Domestic terrorist. Leader of the Revolutionary Communist something-or-other army. Three assassination attempts against McConnell. I told him to stop or I’m sending him to juvie.”  
  
“ _Jesus fuck_ ,” Benoist mutters.  
  
“ _What she said_ ,” Maines concurs. “ _I mean I can understand being mad, but…_ ”  
  
“Yeah, it’s been a _week_ ,” I sigh. “He promised to stop at least. And he told the cultists to stop, too. And he’s in therapy. So that’s good.” I yawn again. “So Greg, anything you wanted to talk to me about in particular?”  
  
“ _Just wanted to talk to you myself and make sure you’re OK. Also, I convinced Noelle Stevenson to spot me some script ideas for_ Riverdale _. I’m going to try to make it less of a complete disaster_.”  
  
“...how the flying fuck are you going to manage that?”  
  
“ _Well, you remember that time when we got really drunk before Comic-Con and you rambled on about video game alternate timeline things?_ ”  
  
“Yeah, _Kaiserreich_ , right?”  
  
“ _Yeah, so, uh, I may or may not have gotten really, really high on something I was saving for a special occasion after I heard that you’d been nearly assassinated again and I may or may not have been with some of my subordinates at the time and I may or may not have turned the ridiculous grim-dark reinterpretation of cheesy ‘60s comics into an interdimensional time-travel alternate-history mystery serial. Certain acidic substances may have been involved. And a certain medicinal herb_.”  
  
“What the fuck.”  
  
“ _Yeah_.” The rest of the cast is just straight-up gaping as Berlanti scratches the back of his head with a rueful expression. “ _So. Uh. We’ll see how this goes._ ”  
  
“Are you OK, man?”  
  
“ _No_ ,” he answers frankly. “ _The world’s gone insane, you were in a coma, the Acting President invaded another country for PR and got away with it, and apparently Vladimir Putin is dying and Russia’s about to implode, which means World War 3 is a distinct, ball-shrivelingly serious possibility. I’m getting a lot of therapy, though. My husband would probably literally kill me if I didn’t_.”  
  
“Good,” I rasp. “All we can do, yeah?”  
  
“ _Exactly_.”  
  
“ _Mr. President_ ,” Leigh cuts back in. “ _I just want you to know--if you need someone to talk to, I’ll take your calls._ ”  
  
“Thank you,” I reply, vision blurring, and sniffle. “Uh, same to you. Vinnie can help too, I guess.”  
  
“Damn right,” my henchman concurs from his bed. “I’m already this kid’s living therapy blanket, after all.”  
  
Leigh chuckles softly. “ _I’ve got a good support network here. But thank you._ ”  
  
“No problem. Hey, did you talk to Karpyshyn yet?”  
  
“ _About that_ Mass Effect _series? Yeah. I, uh, started playing the games, actually, it’s been a lot of fun. Nathan's teasing me about Shepard and Liara. But he's doing the exact same thing with his playthrough so I don't think he has a leg to stand on. How are you going to get Wrex and Garrus into live action, though?_ ”  
  
“I’m spending a frankly obscene amount of money on CGI,” I tell her frankly. “Fuck, I haven’t gotten a briefing from that crew yet. Benoist, did your boyfriend get in touch with my people yet?”  
  
“ _Fiance, and yeah. Thanks, by the way. He’s pretty psyched_.”  
  
“Congratulations, and not a problem, I’m a brazenly corrupt dickhead, I like to do good things for people who deserve it.” I turn my head aside and yawn. “Fuck. I’m getting tired, guys, my stamina’s shot after two months in a coma.”  
  
“ _No shit, Sherlock,_ ” Berlanti mutters. I chuckle.  
  
“Yeah, so, I’m gonna head out for the night. Thanks for calling me, guys, and keep up the good work!”  
  
“ _Will do_!” several of the actors chorus. Berlanti salutes me.  
  
“ _Get well soon, Mr. President. I want some real competition in the gay-off_.”  
  
“You got it, Comrade. Ciao!”  
  
We hang up, and I can pass out happy.  
  
***  
  
 _Moscow, Russian Federation._  
  
Dmitry Antolyevich Medvedev watched his dying _Vozhd_ with mixed trepidation and greed.  
  
 _Russia is mine_ , said one half of Medvedev, as the machines beeped, doctors working feverishly as the influenza and aftermath of radiation poisoning tore Putin’s respiratory system apart. _I am the Acting President, the nation is mine to lose!  
  
I’m fucking dead_, said the other half, quivering in terror somewhere in the bowels of Medvedev’s cerebrum. _I’m the Acting President, I’ve got a target on my back the size of Petrograd!  
  
All the more reason for me to seize the day as Vladimir Vladimirovich did! _the bold Medvedev said. _Crush the opposition before they crush you!  
  
They’re already moving, I don’t know who they are, where they are!  
  
I have the security services. Use them! Be a man for once in your life, Dmitry Anatolyevich!  
  
No, no, if I’m too aggressive they’ll come for me...think of how Yeltsin lost his support!  
  
Yeltsin lost his support because he was a drunken fool! I can be strong and masculine, as strong and masculine as the _Vozhd _!_  
  
 _But...but what about the army? Will they pick a side? I’ll have to buy the generals’ loyalty!_  
  
Mercifully, Medvedev was pulled from his panicked thoughts by a tap on his shoulder. “Hey, Dmitry Anatolyevich--there’s nothing we can do for him right now, you should eat. Mind your own health, _da_?”  
  
Medvedev blinked, turning to recognize the speaker--Sergei Shogyu, Minister of Defense. _Can I trust him? He is loyal to the_ Vozhd _, will he be loyal to me?_  
  
Medvedev licked his lips. “Ah, yes, Sergei Kuzhugetovich, I was merely distracted by my desire for our beloved _Vozhd_ ’s swift recovery.”  
  
Shogyu’s face was unreadable. “Of course, Dmitry Anatolyevich, we all long for the swift recovery of our great President. I know a restaurant that we could--”  
  
“No, no, I don’t mind the food in the cafeteria,” Medvedev assured the Defense Minister. Establish dominance. _I am the Acting President!_ Make it subtly clear that he was the boss, that was the way to do it. That was how Putin did it.  
  
Shogyu shrugged. “Alright.” That was it? Just _alright_? Medvedev tried not to let his panic show. “I will follow you, Dmitry Anatolyevich.”  
  
 _What? What does he mean by that? Is that loyalty or is that preparing to stab me in the back???_  
  
“No, no, Sergei Kuzhugetovich, I insist that you lead!”  
  
Shogyu raised an eyebrow, but nodded without comment. “As you wish, Dmitry Anatolyevich.” He turned towards the elevator. Medvedev dithered for a moment, then followed.  
  
Medvedev made sure to keep his bodyguard between himself and Shogyu in the elevator. Shogyu raised an eyebrow again, and again made no comment.  
  
“I think that the borscht here is not so bad, Dmitry Anatolyevich,” Shogyu said conversationally as they walked into the cafeteria. “Not quite so good as my dear mother’s, of course!” He chuckled. Medvedev managed something that approached a laugh in response, and resolved not to so much as touch the borscht. “What do you want, Dmitry Anatolyevich? I’ll buy.”  
  
“No, no, I will buy, I insist,” Medvedev countered. _Don’t become dependent on others! Real men are independent and strong!_ He grabbed a tray and a bowl, then a cup of cottage cheese.  
  
Shogyu shrugged. “Just as long as you eat, Acting President. Wouldn’t do to have you go hungry.”  
  
 _And what does that mean?_ “I will sustain myself on my love for Mother Russia, Sergei Kuzhugetovich!”  
  
Shogyu offered him a look that Medvedev couldn’t be certain of. “Dmitry Anatolyevich, the _Vozhd_ is a towering titan among men, uniquely masculine and strong, but even he requires food and sleep. I only wish for you to be prepared should the enemies of Mother Russia threaten our homeland.”  
  
Was he serious? Could Medvedev afford letting this...this presumption of weakness go unchallenged even if he was? “I will be a worthy substitute for our great President,” Medvedev vowed in what he hoped was a stern and masculine manner. “I have done so before when he was forced by constitutional necessity to be Prime Minister. I will do so again!”  
  
“Of course, Dmitry Anatolyevich, of course, of that I have no doubt.” Was that a placating expression? God, this would be so much easier if Medvedev could tell if Shogyu was loyal to him. Medvedev could feel the sweat in his armpits, and prayed that his deodorant would keep Shogyu from noticing. Grabbing a mug of coffee and quickly slopping some buckwheat pudding into his bowl, Medvedev hurried to sit at a table with a clear view of the windows and exits. That much, at least, reassured him a bit. At least, he thought it did. His heart was racing with anxiety, his chest feeling tight as a drum. _If the_ Vozhd _recovers, I should take a vacation...go fishing or something. Not until then, though, I must appear strong and commanding!_ If Putin died…  
  
 _Who is with me and who is against me? Lavrov has a power base. Chemezov has wealth to go with his power. I must act! No, but what if that provokes them? What if I don’t know who is with me and who is against me? But a great leader should act decisively, as the_ Vozhd _has! Strong and masculine. I must be strong and masculine!_  
  
He’d need to pay some beautiful women, too. A song with beautiful women singing his praises. That would definitely help make Medvedev appear powerful and masculine!  
  
Shogyu sat across from Medvedev with a pleased grunt and a grin. Medvedev started, then quickly tried to compose himself. “Ah, Dmitry Anatolyevich, I tell you, the Motherland will survive this trial. She has suffered far worse and emerged stronger than ever. You will be an excellent leader, truly worthy of the legacy our _Vozhd_ leaves.”  
  
 _Is he buttering me up?_ “Of course. I shall be as strong and masculine as Putin at his very greatest!” Something fluttered in Medvedev’s chest, stabbing at his ribcage. At least, that was what it felt like.  
  
“Hey, you don’t need to be so nervous around me, Dmitry Anatolyevich, I only want you strong and healthy.” Shogyu took a spoonful of borscht, and grimaced. “Ugh, did they change the recipe?”  
  
“I am not nervous! I am merely worried for our glorious _Vozhd_!” A rivulet of sweat ran down Medvedev’s back.  
  
“What, you think I’m trying to kill you?” Shogyu shook his head with a chuckle, tucked into his borscht again, and swallowed. “No, no, I just want you to be healthy, Dmitry Anatolyevich. We need stability right now, not a scandal.” He pointed his spoon at Medvedev; it smelled faintly of almonds for some reason. “Just trust me, Acting President. You’ll have to trust someone if it comes to something regrettable. Even if it’s just a little bit.”  
  
Medvedev played with his pudding with his own spoon as Shogyu ate some more. “I have no idea what you are talking about. We are all hoping for the swift recovery of our great _Vozhd_. There is no power struggle. I am not thinking of who could oppose me. There will be strict adherence to the rule of law, and the Motherland will remain strong!”  
  
Shogyu sighed, then winced and rubbed his temple. “Ugh, I may need to get myself a painkiller, I’ve got the worst headache all of a sudden. Look, Dmitry Anatolyevich, I don’t need you to be my ally or anything. I just want you to know, I’ll watch your back, and if you need someone to confide in, I’ll do it, alright?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “God, what is wrong with me today, I’m getting dizzy of all things.” His breath came short and sharp.  
  
Medvedev froze. _Oh God. Has he been poisoned? Have I been poisoned? Is he acting to bluff me? He can’t possibly be so straightforward and be honest about it, can he? No, that’s not...that doesn’t make sense...oh god, have we been poisoned? Am I going to die?_  
  
Shogyu clutched his head with a grunt of pain. “God damn! What are they making this damned borscht with?” Then he froze, eyes going wide as he heard his own slurred words. “Oh God.”  
  
Shogyu tried to stand, stumbled, and collapsed, nearly upending the table as he fell back over his chair and cracked his head on the ground, body convulsing.  
  
Medvedev’s bodyguard shouted in alarm, but Medvedev barely heard him. _He’s been poisoned! He’s been poisoned, was it in the food or have I been poisoned too? Have I...oh god, oh god, I’m going to die, I’ve been poisoned and I’m going to--_  
  
There was a sharp stabbing pain in Medvedev’s chest. He stood himself, trying to clutch at it, and stumbled back himself, hitting the wall he’d positioned himself against and sliding to the ground. He had no heartbeat. Oh, God, he couldn’t feel his heartbeat. He was going to die, die here on the floor of this goddamn hospital with Shogyu choking his life away on the ground not three meters away...  
  
By the time the hospital staff arrived, Shogyu was dead of approximately a hundred times the LD-50 dose of cyanide. Medvedev made it another two days after his heart attack, and never woke up again.  
  
***  
  
 _April 10th. Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, Bethesda, Maryland._  
  
“Mr. President,” Secretary of Defense James Mattis says with a crisp salute.  
  
“For fucksake, man, you don’t need to salute me, you’re a fucking badass.” I put my tapioca aside, muting the BBC report on the Syria mess. Foreign news is the only stuff worth watching anymore. “Good job on the Saudi Arabia mess. No major insurgency yet?”  
  
“There were a few flareups in the first couple of weeks after the surrender, but then some Hamas-linked sites started threatening to join the fight on our side because of what you pulled in Palestine, and the Iranians were silent for almost three weeks because they couldn’t decide if we were evil for taking Mecca or heroes for taking it out of the hands of the Sunnis. So what opposition there was was fragmented and ineffective at worst. Then ISIS stuck their nose in.”  
  
“Oh, fuck, what happened?”  
  
“You’re not going to believe this.” Mattis is actually chuckling. “Those morons tried to bomb the Masjid al-Haram. The most important mosque in Islam.”  
  
“You’re shitting me.”  
  
“I swear to you, Mr. President, I’m not. Their rationale according to propaganda materials we seized was that they were going to ‘purify’ the building of the “presence of unbelievers” by killing a bunch of our soldiers who were providing security there, but the rest of the Muslim world is somehow even angrier at them than they already were, and that’s saying quite a bit, because setting off a bomb in the middle of a sacred building is, surprise surprise, a godawful idea. The mosque is intact, don’t worry, we actually got ahead of the bastards this time and foiled their op before they could run it. We even got a tip on Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, looks like he went to ground in Libya. I’ve taken the liberty of mobilizing several SOCOM units and briefing the Acting President, we move in on the hour. Codename, Operation Sinjar Redemption.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you be in the Situation Room with Pelosi?”  
  
“I want your personal sign-off, sir. For luck.”  
  
A grin splits my lips. “Clever. OK. Bring that sonofabitch in alive, Mattis. That’s an order.”  
  
“I’ve taken the further liberty of bringing you teleconference equipment, Mr. President.” Minions file in behind him and go for the TV. “Figured you might want to watch.”  
  
“Believe me, I absolutely do,” I growl. Al-Baghdadi’s made it an extra year or so by sheer luck and the butterfly effect, but now he’s finally going to see justice.  
  
“Wilson, how’s your recovery going?”  
  
Vinnie gives the General a thumbs-up. “Well enough, sir. I’ll be glad to be back on my feet, though.”  
  
Mattis chuckles at that. “I’ll bet. You’re on to physical therapy now, right?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m walking with the kid in a couple of days.”  
  
“Good. Get well soon, Wilson.”  
  
“With pleasure, sir.”  
  
“And Mr. President, you and I are going to need to talk at some point about TAnon.”  
  
“That new conspiracy theory? You know who’s behind it?”  
  
“I...have suspicions. They can wait, though, Mr. President. For now, I’ve got to help oversee this mission.”  
  
“Go,” I tell my SecDef. “I trust you, Mattis. Kick that fucker’s ass.”  
  
“With pleasure, Mr. President.”  
  
Mattis has done his work well. Al-Baghdadi doesn’t even have time to get a suicide vest on. The SEALs manage to separate him from his human shields, and he begs like a dog before Petty Officer, First Class Alejandro Ortiz slams the butt of his M-4 into the psychopath’s face.  
  
I know just enough Arabic to know that he wasn’t begging for his life. Seems he knows what’s waiting for him when we hand him over to the Iraqis for trial.  
  
***  
  
 _ **r/TheRevolution** , April 11th, 2019_  
  
 ** _Posted by_ u/T [Verified TAnon Account] _1 hour ago_**  
  
Listen up, folks. Gonna be a doozy today.  
  
POTUS on normal sleep schedule, probably going to walk tomorrow. Seems coherent, no apparent loss of faculties.  
  
Pelosi authorized, oversaw capture of al-Baghdadi. POTUS watched. Mattis loyal to POTUS, might be a convert to the cause, not convinced myself.  
  
McConnell set to be tried next month. Pelosi wants open courtroom, press sec, chief of staff, SecState want closed. SecDef (Mattis) outwardly neutral.  
  
Bezos transferred funds to Qatar, Andorra. May be planning flight. Potential involvement with assassination attempt unclear. IRS watching him. Loyalty of IRS likely high. Capitalists known to be seeking defunding of IRS (Bloomberg, Koch, Adelson, Bezos, Perlmutter among others). Puppet legislators inc. Tillis, Feinstein, Collins, Waters known by POTUS loyalists to be in pockets of big business. POTUS and Comrade Bernie (known loyal to Revolution) got rider into tax bill upping IRS budget. Before rider--IRS targeted poor citizens, due to lack of budget. Now--IRS has funds, people to take on capitalists. Protest Waters, Tillis, Feinstein, Collins, other corrupt CCs! Swamp must be drained. Moscow Mitch confirmed big capitalist supporter, now ineffective due to failed assassination. WCFA300000M  
  
DNI confirmed to POTUS, Pelosi that Ramzan Kadyrov (Chechen puppet dictator) provided troops for assassination attempt. Russian involvement at all levels suspected. Putin suspected dying. Russian order of succession unclear with Medvedev dead. Had to leave before hearing more.  
  
Pence involvement with assassination likely minimal/NONE. Just a crazy fundie. JBBRTG, HTGMO  
  
Capitalist involvement in plot uncertain, but stock market dip post-POTUS waking confirmed driven by banking and Amazon stock uncertainty. Capitalists know POTUS is their enemy. Be prepared to strike. JB101659.  
  
POTUS likely planning new general strike in protest of capitalist involvement. Watch his Twitter!  
  
Found new intel--Pelosi attempted to bring Chevron, Sunoco, ExxonMobil into Arabia, planned to sell rights under table. Swamp goes deep! Do not trust corporate Dems. Comrades Bernie, Tlaib, Omar, Katpur, AOC--trustworthy, loyal to POTUS! Press sec threatened to go public, Pelosi backed down.  
  
Suspect SecDef has me in his sights. Updates may be delayed/minimal for time being.  
  
Stay strong, Patriots. The false prophets will be overthrown by the allies under the Revolution. POTUSMAGA!  
  
***  
  
 _Sellinger Lounge, Healey Student Center, Georgetown University, Washington, DC. April 11th, 2019._  
  
“Whatcha doing, T?”  
  
Tiffany Trump looked up from her computer as her friends approached. “Oh, nothing important, Riley. Hey, Jan, Marcus.”  
  
“Morning, Tiffany,” Jan replied, taking a seat across from the blonde. Marrcus took Tiffany’s right and Riley, a tall pink-haired woman with an aggressive undercut that clashed magnificently with her suit, took Tiffany’s left. “Your Dad doing better?”  
  
“Yeah, they’re taking him for a short walk tomorrow. He tried to get out of bed to use the bathroom unassisted and his bodyguard and the doctor about had a conniption fit. His own damn fault, really. How was the interview, Riley?”  
  
The taller woman grinned. “I think I got it, T.”  
  
“Hey, congratulations!” Tiffany gave her a high-five. “This is with Stone, right?”  
  
“Yep,” Riley grinned. “I mentioned that I liked one of his YouTube videos, he was leery at first but seemed to like it once I got into the nitty-gritty bits. What about you?”  
  
Tiffany shrugged. “Dad offered to get me an in with a New York firm last year, but I turned him down. Tried to get in a few places to find out how the dark side operates--Covington and Burling practically laughed me out of the room, I think they only saw POTUS’s blonde bimbette brat.”  
  
The others winced in sympathy. “Sorry, T,” Marcus offered.  
  
“Eh, it’s not too bad, a public defender in Baltimore took me. I’m psyched, it looks like a good experience.”  
  
“Yeah, big city public defender’s a good place for the career you’re angling for in B-track,” Riley opined. “Good luck.”  
  
“Thanks,” Tiffany smiled. “Hey, how was the date?”  
  
Riley grimaced. “Not great. She was a total skinflint and she got pissed at me for saying that more female CEOs won’t do much good for women as a whole.”  
  
“Ah, jeez, I’m sorry.”  
  
“Hey, it’s not like any of us other than Jan and Marcus are getting any these days.”  
  
“Oh, we aren’t, either,” Marcus noted.  
  
“End of semester blues,” Jan concurred. “That’s why I’m borrowing Mom and Dad’s cabin for two weeks right after we leave the dorms.”  
  
“ _Two weeks?_ ” Tiffany gaped. “What are you, the Energizer Bunny?”  
  
“I wish,” Marcus muttered, and got elbowed for his trouble. “Ow!”  
  
“Actually, I was hoping for some _romantic sunsets_ and evenings in front of a crackling fire,” Jan sniffed. “But if you keep it up, buddy boy, you’ll find your current situation becoming _permanent_.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” Marcus said, zipping his mouth with one hand.  
  
Riley shook her head. “Straight people,” she muttered under her breath.  
  
“What about you, T?” Jan asked. “Got a hot date?”  
  
“Nah,” Tiffany shook her head. “I’ve got school, a job to do, and with my Dad in the hospital...I’ve got too much on my plate.”  
  
“Sorry to hear that,” Marcus offered.  
  
Tiffany shrugged. “Eh. Could be worse. I could be Barron.”  
  
“Why, what’s up with your brother?” Riley asked.  
  
“Well, even before Dad grounded him for a decade for running a domestic terrorist cell on a chat service, his kiddie attempt at a love life was a mess. He went and tried to chat up a cheerleader by spouting off his D&D knowledge.”  
  
“Ouch,” Jan winced.  
  
“Hey, plenty of chicks dig D&D,” Riley protested.  
  
“Yeah, but not the popular girls at St. Andrews.” Tiffany shook her head. “Hey, Riley?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I’ve got a week off before my internship starts, and Dad’s bodyguard has a place in Tahiti courtesy of Dad, that Dad’s bodyguard’s wife offered to let me borrow since Dad’s bodyguard’s in the hospital. Want to spend a week on the beach? Uh, platonically, of course?”  
  
Riley rolled her eyes. “You are seriously the most clueless straight girl sometimes, Tiffany.”  
  
“I know,” the blonde sighed. “But I’m trying, you know?”  
  
“Yeah, I know.” Riley shrugged. “Why not? Are there chicks in Tahiti?”  
  
“Lots of white chicks. If you speak Tahitian or French you can try your luck at getting turned down by a waitress in a tropical paradise.”  
  
“Well, that’s one for the bucket list. Sure. Do I need a special outfit?”  
  
“Bring your skimpiest bikini, sunglasses, and sunscreen. Oh, and your Nestor Makhno bandana.”  
  
“What, want me to play for points with your dad in a few selfies?”  
  
“Nah,” Tiffany opined. “It’ll be great for scaring off assholes and attracting decent women so I can get your gay disaster ass laid.”  
  
***  
  
 _April 12th._  
  
“Hello, America!” I tell the camera, risking a raise of one hand from my walker to give a thumbs-up. “This is your pal, Comrade Donnie. As you can see, we’re starting me on physical therapy to get me walking again after two months in a coma! Cool stuff.” I start to trundle along, Vinnie walking with a cane by my side. “This here’s Vinnie, the man who’s saved my life four times now. Say hello, Vinnie!”  
  
“Hey,” my henchman grunts with a grin. “Happy to be back on my feet and protecting you, Mr. President.” Behind us, the Secret Service loom like lethal shadows.  
  
“This guy’s the best, he took a bullet for me, couple of times, saved my life four times now. Real American hero!” I stop to take a breath. “ _Fuck_ that hurts. God I fucking hope Moscow Mitch gets life without parole.”  
  
Vinnie snorts. “He’ll be dead of old age before he even gets a parole hearing.”  
  
“Either way he’s a shitbag and I want him to die in prison, but not until he’s seen me lead the Revolution to the dismantlement of the corrupt capitalist world order he devoted himself to. Which reminds me--Comrade Tlaib, Comrade Sanders! We need to meet, bring Comrade Ocasio-Cortez and Comrade Omar as well. It’s time we repealed the Taft-Hartley Act.”  
  
I stop, sucking in a breath. “ _Fuck_ my stamina’s shot.” Vinnie grunts sympathetically. “Workers of America, I am here for you. We are going to drain the swamp that is Washington. We are going to replace the corrupt patronage system of the capitalist-imperialists with a system of responsibility where our lawmakers are beholden solely and entirely to the people! And also I’m going to make my companies into democratic cooperatives, we’re going to start with _Trump Games_ and go from there. MAGA Syndicalism! MAGA Liberty!” My voice hitches and I stop to suck in another breath. “Jesus fuck. Break the chains, and let’s lick Moscow Mitch!”  
  
“Shut up and focus on walking, kid,” Vinnie growls.  
  
“Right, right, yeah…” My legs are unsteady at best. “Man, I hope that turtle-faced sociopath fucking rots.”  
  
***  
 _ **The Courier-Journal, April 14th, 2019**  
  
BEVIN LOSES LEAD TO PRIMARY CHALLENGER_  
  
Dogged by allegations of corruption, Gov. Bevin is down 3 points in a new poll versus challenger Robert Goforth  
  
 _Protests paralyze Louisville as outrage against Governor spreads_  
  
Protesters demand Bevin’s resignation after campaign donor appointed to Senate seat in alleged bribery scandal  
  
 _ **The New York Times, April 14th, 2019**  
  
TAnon influence spreads_  
  
Antiestablishment sentiment fuels left-wing conspiracy theory  
  
 _David Brooks--Why TAnon scares me_  
  
The conspiracy theory condemns normal policy actions despite decades of American success.  
  
 _Maureen Dowd--The sexist, Bernie Bro roots of opposition to President Pelosi_  
  
America has its first female President, so why do supposed liberals criticize her?  
  
 _ **Jacobin, April 14th, 2019**  
  
TAnon warns of Dem duplicity!_  
  
Insider leaker warns of counter-revolutionary goals of Acting President  
  
 _Colonize Harrison: The plan to root out racism in an Arkansas town_  
  
John Brown Gun Club, True Revolutionary Black Panthers plan pan-racial takeover effort in honor of Comrade Donnie  
  
 _ **The Guardian, April 14th, 2019**  
  
Prime Minister Skinner promises “Economic and social revolution”_  
  
Despite staunch LibDem and Tory opposition, Skinner forges ahead on Brexit, workplace democracy, transgender protections.  
  
 _Author and Prime Minister in Twitter feud_  
  
JK Rowling accuses PM Skinner of “allowing mentally disturbed men to infiltrate womens’ spaces”; Skinner shoots back, alleging “despicable bigotry”, accusing Rowling of being “out of touch”  
  
 _Poll: Working-class men, minorities, youth voters support PM’s transgender rights proposal; middle-class women, Tories in staunch opposition_  
  
Loyalty to Skinner, gender, and age appear to divide sentiments.  
  
 _ **BBC News, April 14th, 2019**  
  
Skinner Stans and Beast Boys: Inside the new Labour movement_  
  
How collegiate youth and working-class adults are finding common ground.  
  
 _Skinner: “Brexit talks proceeding well”_  
  
Progress “not always smooth” but HM’s government expects a deal by June.  
  
 _ **The Daily Telegraph, April 14th, 2019**  
  
Skinner: “Bugger the investment bankers!”_  
  
Controversial socialist PM risks all on untested economic schemes.  
  
 _Op-Ed--JK Rowling: I am being harassed for standing up for women!_  
  
Dennis Skinner’s misogyny and his sexist “Beast Boys” are threatening women’s spaces and damaging the very concept of womanhood to fit a dangerous radical worldview with no basis in fact!


	5. Interlude: Comrade Donnie's cabinet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted because a very nice commenter asked. :)

**President of the United States** : Donald "Comrade Donnie" Trump (nut job) [2019: Acting President Nancy Pelosi]

 **Vice President** : Mike Pence (ostracized, out of the loop) [2019: 25thed because of attempting to pardon Mitch McConnell for trying to assassinate the President]

**Cabinet Secretaries:**

  * State: Angela Nicole Walker (former Socialist Party USA VP candidate)
  * Treasury: Paul Krugman (Conservative boogeyman and Keynesian economist)
  * Defense: James "Mad Dog" Mattis. (most competent man for the job)
  * Attorney General (Department of Justice): Kamala Harris (rising Dem star--sop to the Dem establishment to help keep them happy)
  * Interior: Aaron Mair (former Sierra Club leader)
  * Agriculture: Arturo S. Rodriguez (in real life, the President of the united Farm Workers)
  * Commerce: James P. Hoffa (union boss)
  * Labor: Richard Wallace Bloomingdale (AFL-CIO higher-up)
  * Health and Human Services: LeRoy Carhart (union boss)
  * Housing and Urban Development: Ernie Chambers (union boss)
  * Education: Neil DeGrasse Tyson (scientist and conservative boogeyman)
  * Energy: Bill McKibben (environmentalist and conservative boogeyman)
  * Department of the Environment (formerly Environmental Protection Agency: Michael Mann (climate scientist and conservative bogeyman)
  * Small Business Administration: Lee Saunders (union boss)
  * Transportation: Victor Mendez
  * Homeland Security: Elizabeth Sherwood-Randall (former Obama administration official)
  * Veterans' Affairs: Max Uriarte (Marine veteran, cartoonist, hired because the President likes his webcomic)



FCC Chair: Lawrence Lessig (net neutrality advocate and conservative boogeyman)

Ambassador to the United Nations: Tim Kaine (combination of stealth insult and sop to the DNC)

Director of National Intelligence: Robert S. Mueller III (poached for competence before the Russia probe exploded)

  
SUPREME COURT PICKS: Merrick Garland (replacing Scalia), Jacqueline Nguyen (replacing Alito--Alito was killed in a failed assassination attempt on the President)


	6. I WON BY A LOT!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Russian situation continues to deteriorate, Comrade Donnie abuses his luck.

_April 16th, 2019_.

  
***  
  
 _April 18th_  
  
“We need to Get Our America Working Again,” I say from my bed, overstuffed burrito from the local Tex-Mex chain joint in one hand. “Homelessness is a bigly crisis in this country, and we can end it. This year, as soon as I get my full President powers back, I’m going to have the _Work For America, If You’re Man Enough!_ boys--and girls, apparently we’ve got some women taking advantage of the job opportunities Uncle Sam’s providing, too--out to California to build some housing for refugees. Also we need to end the real estate industry that relies on artificial housing shortages and replace it with a system accountable to the people. We can’t afford another housing bubble! We have nearly _thirty times_ as many empty houses as homeless people! That’s bullshit! Our America will not stand for this. We’ll refurbish the existing houses and build lots of new ones for the new Americans we’re going to get.  
  
“So I’m calling to my MAGA Nation to protest this bullshit. Petition Pelosi to make sure she gets this started early! The Workers Of America shouldn’t have to wait on my maimed geriatric ass! And I know that some dumbshits have been taking potshots at Moscow Mitch--if you do that, I’ll send you to Gitmo and leave you there to rot. We will do this the right way, people. When you protest, leave your guns at home. I mean it. March peacefully and let your voice get heard, don’t be an ass.”  
  
I pause for several full seconds to breathe heavily. “Whoof! That probably made no sense. I’m on some painkillers right now and I might be high.”  
  
“No shit,” Vinnie mutters. “Your reasoning’s damn near incoherent, Donnie.”  
  
“Shit, really? OK, well, I deserve the drugs, I walked all the way down the hall today with the walker. And I didn’t send hit men after that shithead Henry Kisssinger.”  
  
“Truly, your restraint is legendary, kid,” Vinnie deadpans.  
  
“Haha, yeah, honestly Kissinger and Cheney should be locked up. Then again, most of our Cold War leaders probably deserved a firing squad. Same with Mao and Stalin and Kruschev and that dipshit Brezhnev and the assclowns who enabled the whole lot, really. Our media’s still fucking poisoned, we have this bullshit American exceptionalism idea...fuck, man, there’s gonna be a fucking coup at this rate…” I shake my head. “Well Moscow Mitch sorta tried. Fuck, I’m so fucking high right now. Are we still recording? Keep recording. People need to know I’m still a stable genius even when I’m high, haha oh god I’m so fucking tired of this bullshit, man, I can’t fucking wait to get back to work.”  
  
“Ok,” Annie says. “I think we should--”  
  
“No, no, let me finish! I’m a very stable genius. I just wanna say, to my MAGA Nation, you guys are the best! You are the revolution, you know that? I can’t get shit done without you. Also go out and help people. Remember, when you buy shit, it helps the economy, it’s a circle of money, the more money’s moving the better the economy is. Pay your taxes and save yeah but then spend spend spend, not on big shit, but on stuff that people make. Buy stuff and give it to people who can’t buy things. Helping people is good, I like helping people. We need to be the best country, the best ever, save the world, freedom and socialism, uh, shit, lost my train of thought, uh, yeah just help people, get them food and homes, shatter the class system and end racism, we’re going to do it, where’s my morphine?”  
  
Not my finest speech but as my people wrap filming I’m pretty satisfied with it.  
  
***  
  
 _April 19th_  
  
“...and I think that if we play it right, we can get votes out of the passenger pigeon cloning project,” Fatima says, scrolling down the list she’s projected onto her Smartboard. “If we--”  
  
She’s cut off as Annie enters, a Secret Service goon--a black guy I vaguely know, not Agent Clay (who’s running my detail while Vinnie’s in traction)--looming behind her like a lethal shadow. “Mr. President, I have the Australia Zoo.”  
  
“Gimme,” I tell her, making grabby hands, and she passes over her phone. “Comrade Donnie, who do you want me to nuke?”  
  
“ _...uh,_ ” manages the guy on the other end. “ _President, uh, Trump?_ ”  
  
“Call me Donnie, Comrade Donnie, all my friends do. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”  
  
“ _This is, uh, Wes Mannion, I’m the Director here at the Australia Zoo. We were surprised to get your assistant’s email, Mr. President, but we’re always interested in accepting charitable donations…_ ”  
  
“It goes way beyond donations, Mr. Mannion,” I interrupt, rolling a twenty-sided die onto my meal tray with one hand. It comes up a 20. As every single one has since I woke up as Donald Trump. “Let me explain my plan to you, and don’t hang up, because I’m deadly serious. I want to use my personal fortune to organize, equip, and supply a six-month biogeographical survey of several specific locations in Australia and Tasmania. I will fund you, you will go to the locations, and every morning before heading out into the field your personnel will contact me by phone or email with a list of six or eight sites that they plan to investigate at those locations. I will choose one by means that I wish to keep private. Your personnel will investigate that site with the goal of live-capturing specific specimens and recording others. In addition to funding this project entirely with my own money, I’ll give the Zoo ten million bucks to use as you and Mrs. Irwin see fit. No questions asked. The specific stipulation that your personnel contact me and target the site that I specify on each work day is non-negotiable. What do you say?”  
  
Mannion is silent for a full thirty seconds. Then, “ _You want us to go to random places to capture animals? Why?_ ”  
  
“Suffice it to say that if I’m right, you’ll need my ten million to build a new exhibit. And you’ll probably get a Nobel Prize. Look, I can’t explain too much, you’ll think I’m crazy. But I can hand you the biggest piece of good news the global conservation movement has had in over a century, and all I need is for you to trust me.”  
  
“ _Mate...this is crackers! You’ll give us ten million as, what, a bribe to do a survey that you’re funding anyway? Uh, no offense, Mr. President, but that’s just mental!_ ”  
  
“Yeah, it is. It was also nuts to threaten to nuke Jerusalem, and that managed to scare the Israelis and Palestinians into working together. Look, man, I grew up on _Crocodile Hunter_. I watched it religiously right up until the day Steve Irwin died when I was about 10. Could never bring myself to watch it again, it hurt too much. Guy was my hero as a kid. A truly great man. Call this a gift to honor his memory or something. I’m pretty sure he’d want more money to protect rare animals anyway, right?”  
  
“ _...wait, you’re something like seventy years old, how could you--_ ”  
  
“Mr. Mannion. Do you want the ten million bucks, plus expenses, or not?”  
  
Mannion’s pragmatism overcomes his confusion. “ _I’ll have to make some calls, but, uh, I think we’d greatly appreciate the funds._ ”  
  
“Great! My admin will be in touch. The wire transfer will be on its way by tomorrow morning.”  
  
“ _Um, thank you. Uh, just one question--what are we looking for?_ ”  
  
“Central rock-rat, lesser stick-nest rat, desert rat-kangaroo, a few others. You know, easy to miss stuff. Hence the financial support of a corrupt billionaire who regularly bankrupts casinos in Vegas.”  
  
“ _...wait, the lesser stick-nest rat? That’s extinct, what the heck are you--_ ”  
  
“Mr. Mannion. Any explanation I gave you would be ridiculous and unbelievable, especially the truth. Trust me when I say that you don’t want to know, just go to the sites, and prepare for some unbelievable good luck.”  
  
Mannion goes silent again. “ _You’re not just yanking me chain, are you?_ ”  
  
“No. I’m not.” I nod to Annie. “I’ll hand you back to my admin now. She’ll make sure the check clears. Thank you, Mr. Mannion. You’re going to do Steve Irwin proud.”  
  
I hand the phone back, and Fatima’s already handing me the draft email on her phone to look over. I go down the list one more time. _Lesser stick-nest rat. Lesser bilby. Northern pig-footed bandicoot. Southern pig-footed bandicoot. Blue-gray mouse. Central rock-rat. Desert rat-kangaroo. Crescent nailtail wallaby. Paradise parrot. Desert bandicoot. Eastern and Lake Mackay Hare-Wallabies. Broad-faced potoroo._ There are about twenty species all told, and the likelihood of finding even one is one in a million.  
  
Fatima, Vinnie, and I have a bet on. She thinks we get five. He thinks ten. I’ve bet it all on a perfect yield. Just in case.  
  
After all, when you have supernatural luck, why not go all in on the long odds?  
  
“Alright, that’s a potential positive for the list,” Fatima says. “Now, do you have the energy to discuss the Rohingya situation?”  
  
“Sure, how’s it looking?”  
  
“We’ve got State working overtime on finding them homes, the South Africans have actually been an unexpectedly big help. We think they want PR. That and the ANC’s scared of you attacking them on economics. Ramaphosa implied to Pelosi in a call that he wants informal concessions of that sort.”  
  
“Makes sense, the ANC’s up to their eyeballs in corruption. Can you set up a back-channel meeting between me and Ramaphosa? I want to pressure him into reforms.”  
  
“Sure, but I’ll need to loop in Pelosi for a cover. Maybe use a state visit to bring him in for the meet?”  
  
“Good idea. How’re you doing, by the way?”  
  
“I’m…” She hesitates. “I’ve been worried about you, Ian. Really worried. You can’t keep taking these risks.”  
  
“Fatima, I could flip a thousand coins and have a thousand edges. I’m like Mat Cauthon from _The Wheel of Time_. Good series, by the way, been listening to the audiobooks. Maybe a bit too much power-game theming to some of the relationships and the middle books kind of drag, but still. I’m almost to the Brandon Sanderson entries, I’m psyched.”  
  
“Ian, you’re not a coin. You’re flesh and blood, and your luck isn’t a 100% cure-all. You spent _months_ in a coma.”  
  
“In which you and Annie handled things just fine.”  
  
“It was a close-run thing! Pelosi nearly had me fired and blackballed from the government.”  
  
“She _what_?”  
  
“Not important. We _need_ you to stop taking such insane risks and getting into these... _situations_!”  
  
“And _I_ need to fix this damn planet,” I grouse.  
  
“ _انت لست الله_!” she snarls in Arabic, then catches herself and visibly forces herself to switch to English. “You are not God. You are a traumatized college student who is trying to take on the entire world’s problems! _Nobody_ can do that!”  
  
“Gandhi said ‘be the change you wish to see--’”  
  
“ _Fuck_ Gandhi, this isn’t about _Gandhi_. This is about you trying to fix an entire broken planet by yourself while testing the limits of your luck powers trying to find extinct species!”  
  
“I found an ivory-billed woodpecker while looking for _ducks_ for the Hell of it! I could throw a roll of pennies into the air, call them all for heads, and have _all fifty come up heads!_ And _you_ asked if I could talk about the Rohingyas!”  
  
“This isn’t about the Rohingyas either. And we’re bringing the refugees in steadily. We’re hoping to take in a million by the end of the year, and while you were out Bernie Sanders got a rider passed on an immigration bill that lets the executive branch fine companies that exploit undocumented immigrants for up to ninety percent of their total assets, so your base is mollified. Your cult’s organizing refugee adoption programs and support networks, too, a lot of the kids cycling out of the _Work for America!_ program are doing that. Now as for _you_ , you need to focus on recovering. The revolution and all can function without you, but there are people who _care_ about you who want you to get better.”  
  
Fuck. I’ve really upset her, haven’t I? “I’m...sorry,” I manage. “It’s been a rough year.”  
  
She huffs out a half-chuckle. “Yeah. I suppose it has.”  
  
She hugs me, and despite the twinge in my ribs it feels great.  
  
***  
  
 _Moscow, Russian Federation. April 21st, 2019._  
  
Acting President Sergei Viktorovich Lavrov walked towards the podium in front of the Kremlin with a self-satisfied smirk. He still had no idea who had poisoned Shogyu, but with Medvedev out of the way, his path to the leadership of the Motherland was assured.  
  
His smartphone buzzed in his pocket, and Lavrov checked it quickly as the attendees clapped and cheered. He smiled wider; Chemezov, the other Sergei Viktorovich with a chance at the leadership of Russia, had just been strangled by his own bodyguard, who would in turn be “found dead” tomorrow morning.  
  
 _I’ll need new toadies_ , he thought as he took the podium. _And if Vladimir Vladimirovich shows signs of improvement…_  
  
He probably wouldn’t have to kill Putin. The radiation had done its work horrifyingly well. Lavrov almost wished it had been a plot of his rather than a freak accident, so that he could feel more smug about it.  
  
“My fellow true Russian patriots,” Lavrov announced as the applause quieted. “It is my sad duty to take the reins of the Motherland during this interim period, while we pray for the swift recovery of our great President.” Putin would be dead by the end of the week, the doctors assured him. Lavrov could wait that long. “He is already recovering and is practicing judo to restore his full masculine vigor as quickly as possible. In the mean-time, I promise that I shall maintain order with the--”  
  
A shot rang out.  
  
Sergei Viktorovich Lavrov felt something hit the side of his head.  
  
And then Lavrov felt nothing at all.  
  
***  
  
 **British headlines:  
  
 _The Times of London, April 22nd, 2019_**  
  
 _SKINNER BILL PASSES, SENDING SHOCKWAVES THROUGH FINANCIAL MARKETS_  
  
Labour left prepares “workplace democracy” push and devolved English government as tax reform and subsidy package narrowly passes Commons.  
  
 _Polls: “Federalization” proposal has strong support in England_  
  
Devolved government proposal poll: 47% for, 21% against, 32% undecided  
  
 _Home Sec’y Sriskanthan: “We need workplace democracy now!”_  
  
Skinner’s right-hand woman condemns alleged corporate abuses in third-world nations, proposes worker ownership as solution.  
  
 _What is Anarcho-Syndicalism?_  
  
Facts and myths about this branch of socialist anarchism, and why it’s surging in popularity.  
  
 ** _The Sun, April 22nd, 2019_**  
  
 _WE MUST STOP THIS MADNESS!_  
  
Commie PM Skinner attacks British capitalism, plots with Chinese spies to weaken Britain!  
  
 _“My race is being oppressed by Donald Trump’s communist agenda!”_  
  
Lauren Southern speaks--page 3!  
  
 ** _The Guardian, April 22nd, 2019_**  
  
 _Opinion: Why Skinner is the leader Britain deserves, and the one she needs right now._  
  
Robert Reich  
  
 _Devolved English parliament with shockingly high support_  
  
New poll emboldens Skinner in ambitious reform bid.  
  
 _“A federal Union will be a true, equal Union of Britain” --PM_  
  
Skinner supporters rally in Birmingham in support of PM’s ambitious proposal.  
  
***  
  
 **American headlines:  
  
 _The New York Times, April 22nd, 2019_**  
  
 _McConnell trial date set_  
  
Imprisoned ex-Senator to be tried in May.  
  
 _Trump supporters protest outside White House_  
  
Leftist protesters demand an end to war in Afghanistan, Iraq, Saudi Arabia.  
  
 _David Brooks--Unrealistic leftist demands will weaken America’s position in the world._  
  
Naive youth want change, but it will not be the change they think they want.  
  
***  
  
 _Black’s Beach. San Diego County, California. April 23rd, 2019_.  
  
“Barack,” the former First Lady of the United States said, “I’m getting worried about you.”  
  
Former President of the United States Barack Hussein Obama took a long drag on the Lava Cake joint he held in his right hand. “I understand,” he said after a while. A light breeze rustled up between his legs, and the smoke wafted over Obama’s sunglasses. “It’s alright, though. I’ve had an epiphany, Michelle.”  
  
“But...Barack, the girls are getting worried about you. Playing that game with Trump was one thing, but this…”  
  
“Honey,” Obama said in between puffs. “I feel better than I have in years. Considering that I watched my entire worldview catch fire before my eyes a bit over two years ago and nearly had a mental breakdown, I think I’m doing pretty well.”  
  
“Right, but the, um, the nudity, the cannabis?”  
  
“Well, I was feeling adventurous, like I said,” Obama said. He took another drag of his joint. “And this is some damn fine dope. Trump recommended it, actually. Says he did it with that producer friend of his and they wrote his favorite script on it.” He took another hit. It really _was_ good weed.  
  
“Barack, this isn’t like you.”  
  
Obama considered this for a moment. He pulled his sunglasses up a bit. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But, well. I realized I’d spent three decades campaigning for a bunch of slick bullshit platitudes that nearly led to the end of American democracy. And I watched a man detail how that happened right in front of me. It was...it was _transformative_.” He took another hit. “And then that scumbag McConnell shot that poor kid.”  
  
“...kid?”  
  
“Yeah, that and/or a ghost or a method actor. He changes his story a lot, but I think he’s young. Doesn’t get many pop-culture references, especially older ones. He came to Dungeons and Dragons one day laughing about how he just found out he was in _Home Alone 2_. And something about Rudy Giuliani in drag. Anyway, since McConnell shot him, I had a bit of a crisis of faith, you could say.” He inhaled another lungful of dope smoke. “All the best focus groups and New Age think pieces say that mild psychoactive drugs help with this sort of thing. So I’ve been thinking, you know, I want to...hmm. I guess you could say I want to take some time to find myself. I was thinking about asking you to do the same thing, but it’s a big imposition, you know?”  
  
“...Barack, you sound crazy.”  
  
“Yeah, being around Trump, or whoever he really is, tends to have that effect.” Obama’s joint was getting pretty short. He stubbed it out on the cooler and put it in the bag he’d brought along. No reason to pollute when you could avoid it, right? “He’s not quite mentally stable, I think. Probably has post-traumatic stress after all of those assassinations. But he means well, and he’s got the Devil’s own luck. So. I’m going to try to find myself again while he’s recovering. Do you want to join me?”  
  
Michelle looked aside, then quickly back to Obama as an elderly hairy man wearing not one single stitch walked past. “I think it’d be best if I stick to yoga.”  
  
“Whichever you prefer, honey.” Obama lit another joint. “I’m thinking of trying out transcendental meditation. Or maybe mushrooms.”  
  
“If you do magic mushrooms, I’ll divorce you.”  
  
“...yes, dear.” Barack Hussein Obama wasn’t nearly high enough to miss the warning signs.  
  
***  
  
 ** _r/TheRevolution_** _, April 24th, 2019_  
  
 ** _Posted by_ u/T [Verified TAnon Account] _47 minutes ago_**  
  
New orders for loyal agents of freedom from POTUS.  
  
RevSyn proletarians awake! Tax reforms blunting corporate power, hedge funds still powerful. Research: Short-selling. Corporate raiding at its worst!  
  
Community alert: Proletarians be aware! Globalization of the bourgeoisie DANGEROUS to the proletariat! World worker solidarity, alter-globalism supported by POTUS in secret speech to loyalists. Show support, protest capitalist abuses!  
  
ActivismWatch: Comrade Donnie wants support for Rohingya refugees. Adoption of Rohingyas, Uighurs, Yazidis prioritized. POTUS wants you to help Make America Great Again by helping New Americans adjust to our American Freedom!  
  
TRG1915 JH. Remember JH MFTR. BTC, DTC!  
  
***  
  
 _El Capitan Theatre, Los Angeles, California. April 25th, 2019_.  
  
Kevin Feige pasted on his fake smile, waving generously for the cameras as he let an attractive blonde sixteen years his junior wrap an arm around his waist in full view of his family, wearing a baseball cap and unzipped hoodie while the blonde rocked a classy red number that Feige reminded himself to get for Caitlin for their next anniversary. Caitlin had been complaining a bit about Feige spending too much time at work recently, he should take some time to help her feel sexy. _Do something with the kids in the afternoon, then get a sitter, a nice dinner out...yeah._ The blonde nudged Feige with her elbow, and he snapped out of his thoughts to take her hand and raise it triumphantly. “We did it, people!” Feige declared. _Greg Berlanti, eat your gay heart out. And the same to you, Comrade Donnie Trump._  
  
Unlike most people, Feige had never thought of the President as insane. Compared to the shit that went on in the abusive shithole known as Hollywood on a daily basis? Threatening to nominate the Unabomber for Secretary of Education to intimidate Mitch McConnell, as Trump had done two years ago, seemed positively sane.  
  
 _Right, I still owe him one, don’t I_ , Feige thought. _Maybe I’ll help him catch Roman Polanski._ Trump would like that. He hated the endemic abuse in this town and wanted to make some more examples after the purges of Weinstein, Cosby, and the other most infamous offenders.  
  
“I just want to take this moment,” Feige said as the clamor of the reporters momentarily waned, “to thank all of the passionate, lovely MCU fans out there, who’ve been so supportive despite the slight delays to this picture.” Flashes from the cameras. Feige did his best not to squint “And I want to thank Brie here, who’s been an absolutely phenomenal star, extremely supportive of, uh, Disney’s progressive values that you’ll see in this picture, the first Marvel movie with a female protagonist.” Except _Elektra_ of course, but nobody talked about _Elektra_ for good reason. _Fuck you, Ike,_ Feige thought. _I could’ve beat_ Wonder Woman _with a Black Widow movie. Fuck your corrupt misogynistic ass._  
  
“Yes, I’m grateful to have been a part of this project,” the blonde added from Feige’s side. “Mr. Feige in particular was especially supportive of my suggestions for Captain Marvel’s character.” That was low-key bullshit. Larson hadn’t actually suggested much that Feige wasn’t already busy selling to Bob Iger. It helped that Iger was pro-gay in the “I voted for ‘Obama in ‘08 and thought DOMA was cringey” sort of way, though the profit-obsessed bastard’s mewlings about the foreign box-office hadn’t been easy to deal with. “I’m thrilled to announce that my part for _Avengers: Endgame_ has been expanded at his behest, as well, I’m really excited to be a part of this landmark project.”  
  
 _Stay on script, Larson, you fucking ass,_ Feige thought. _Don’t make me look too ambitious_. “Yes, uh, our corporation has always valued and stood by marginalized members of our society,” he lied. But this was Hollywood, and you had to lie to look good. _Song of the South? What Song of the South?_ That was practically the Bob Iger motto. _And don’t ever mention what a homophobic ass Uncle Walt was if you want to keep your job._ “I am beyond thrilled to have been able to help bring the first lesbian superheroine and Marvel’s first female-led superhero movie to life.” Iger and Horn had been nervous and skeptical, respectively. But Feige had fought harder than anything before in his life. They _could not_ cede this ground to fucking Warner Brothers, leaving aside Feige’s own political leanings. “It is my hope that this groundbreaking film will lead to a new era of LGBT representation and female empowerment in American media. Disney is proud to stand at the forefront of diversity and tolerance in our society, and having empowered female protagonists and LGBT characters is of the utmost importance to us.” Yeah, that sounded good.  
  
Of course, it was all bullshit. Iger was still insisting on keeping the gay representation in the next _Frozen_ movie to subtext. Obvious subtext, but subtext. _People deserve better_. Feige wasn’t a goddamn commie like the President, but he had to admit that a lot of what Trump said made sense.  
  
“Now let’s enjoy this picture!” Feige shouted, Larson cheering along with him. There was a scattering of applause from the rear ranks of the crowd, the paparazzi shooting pictures in a pulsating strobe of light.  
  
“Pumping out a lot of bullshit today, aren’t we?” Larson said in an undertone as she and Feige entered the theater.  
  
“Company policy and you know it.”  
  
“You’re not usually this blatant in person. Is it true about Iger?”  
  
“I can neither confirm nor deny.” He had a bad position for succeeding Iger, too low on the hierarchy even though Alan Horn was a goddamn retiree who’d been hauled back to oversee things. If he was to win the power struggle after Iger’s inevitable retirement, Feige would have to bide his time and be at the top of his game. “Also, as far as the public was concerned, I did not expand your part in _Avengers 4_. It was Mr. Iger in his infinite benevolence, got it?” If he looked too ambitious, Feige would be put down. Hard.  
  
“Alright,” Larson acquiesced. “I am serious about thanking you, though. It means a lot, to a lot of people, that Carol can be openly gay.”  
  
“Not bad for a middle-aged white guy, huh?”  
  
“Well, you can say the same about Greg ‘polyamorous lesbians in primetime’ Berlanti. And the President’s in his 70s.”  
  
Feige chuckled. “Fair point. Oh, and make sure you’re seen on the way out with Lashanna Lynch. Act super friendly. Stop for some photos.”  
  
Larson grimaced. “Sounds like queerbait to me.”  
  
“It is. Orders from the top. This happens on TV shows all the time, so just strap your stones in and do it. We are advertising to the teenage lesbians, so do your job and fucking advertise.” God, Caitlin was right, Feige needed a fucking break if he was getting snippy with the talent.  
  
The blonde grimaced again, but nodded. “I can do that.”  
  
“Good.” Feige shook her hand with a genuine smile. “And enjoy your movie, huh? We won, we did a good job, we can throw ourselves a party. You deserve it.” He caught sight of his family approaching out of the corner of his eye. Time to head in.  
  
“Believe me, I will.”  
  
“Good, good.” Feige turned away, greeting Caitlin with a one-armed hug and a kiss. “There you are, beautiful. Ready to head in? I got us some good seats.”  
  
The next morning, Kevin Feige found an email on his burner account from the President that, among several pages of semi-coherent raving about LGBT representation, promised Feige a reservation at his request at a Gordon Ramsay joint. Feige spent the day relaxing by reading reviews, Tweeting vaguely gay-positive things and thanks to fans for their support, and browbeating screenwriters into making preemptive rewrites to the next _Avengers_ script.  
  
Four days later, after the weekend box office numbers came back, Bob Iger ordered “story adjustments” to _Frozen 2_. Feige brought him the new _Avengers_ script that evening in an impromptu late meeting and got it rubber-stamped on the spot.  
  
The day after that, Feige Tweeted “Your move, Greg” at CW producer Greg Berlanti, cashed in the reservation offer, bought Caitlin a fancy set of lingerie to go with that red designer number he’d thought she’d like, and treated his wife to a trip to Vegas on Donald Trump’s dime. It was the best day Feige had had in two years.  
  
***  
  
 _April 26th_  
  


  
***  
  
 _April 27th_.  
  
“Thanks, President Macron. I appreciate your support.”  
  
Acting President Nancy Patricia Pelosi hung up the phone and allowed herself a sigh. _Fucking French bastard could be less obviously a shill…_ Pelosi was no socialist nut like President Trump, but Emmanuel Macron was an immensely hypocritical sycophant even by her standards. Trump’s press secretary entered, with the bastard’s admin.  
  
“Yes, what is it?”  
  
“Your meeting with Prime Minister Skinner, Madam President,” the admin told her. “He’s expected to land in thirty minutes.”  
  
“Right.” Pelosi hadn’t forgotten that, it had just been on the back-burner of her mind. At least, that was what she told herself. “The press?”  
  
“I’m ready to deal with them,” the press secretary assured her. Pelosi still resented the little bitch for humiliating her in the aftermath of the war with Saudi Arabia.  
  
“Don’t make me look bad, or I’ll fire you and eat the angry Tweets,” Pelosi threatened. “Admin, what’s the Russia situation like?”  
  
“Ramzan Kadyrov is dead,” she said. Pelosi froze.  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
“CIA thinks it’s open season on Russian regime highers-up since Lavrov got shot last week,” the woman explained. “Coroner’s report says 314 bullets, mostly in the back, 18 different poisons in his system, and a Georgian necktie.”  
  
...somebody _really_ wanted that guy dead. Pelosi wasn’t surprised. “Well, let’s hope not too many people die in the power struggle. Navalny?”  
  
“Still in London. Must not want to die.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Tell the CIA from me to make sure we have a detail on him at all times. I guess we’ll have to prepare for another humanitarian crisis in Chechnya, too. God damn it.” Pelosi grabbed her stress ball off of the desk and squeezed it. “OK. Have somebody write me a speech about that,” she told the press secretary. “Admin, anything I need to know before I meet with the British commie?”  
  
“He probably thinks you’re a neoliberal shill, but he’s here for the President’s sake.” Pelosi fought to keep from gritting her teeth at the bitch’s reminder that she was only _Acting_ President. “He’s willing to work within the Special Relationship, this is probably going to end up with a handshake and some reassurances that diplomacy will go on mostly as normal. But _don’t_ push him on Saudi Arabia, his people said that that’s a no-go topic because he thinks our invasion was imperialism.”  
  
 _Fucker_. All Pelosi had been doing was seizing an opportunity to shore up her support and liberate the Arab women from that arrogant barbarian fuck Mohammed bin Salman. That had played really well with white women with college degrees. “Alright. China?”  
  
“He hates Xi Jinping and the entire CCP regime. Something about being totalitarian thugs? Probably a safe topic in private but dangerous in public because it’s likely to become negative.”  
  
“Right.” What _was_ it with people these days? “Alright, well, we’d better head to the motorcade, greet him on the tarmac. It’ll make a good photo op, at least.”  
  
***  
  
 _April 28th._  
  
Tiffany Ariana Trump slumped in her seat at the Subway with a sigh. “I swear to God, somebody should invent a time machine so I can go back in time and _slap_ the assholes in this case!”  
  
Her friend Riley looked up. “What’s up?”  
  
“Ah, just some shitty homework,” Tiffany groaned. “How’s the dating scene?”  
  
“Shit,” Riley replied, and took a bite of her sub. Tiffany unwrapped her own footlong with a sympathetic grunt.  
  
“Sorry to hear that. Hey, will you be doing Youtube stuff with Stone when you intern with him?”  
  
“I haven’t asked, but I really hope so. He said he’d be sending me a waiver draft for something later and wants me to go over it to make sure I’m OK with it.”  
  
“Well, good luck,” Tiffany said around a mouthful of sandwich. “It’d be pretty cool to see you on LeagalEagle.”  
  
“Thanks. How’s your family?”  
  
Tiffany shrugged. “Melania has another new boyfriend. Dad’s still crazy but in a good way. Barron aced his math test so Dad bought him a new video game.”  
  
“Which one?”  
  
“Uh, _God of War_.”  
  
“Oh, I’ve heard good things. Christopher Judge did voices for that.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Teal’c on _Stargate: SG-1_.” At Tiffany’s confused look, Riley rolled her eyes and sighed. “Right, I’ll have to show you that, too.”  
  
“What is that, a sci-fi show?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s about some Air Force guys and their alien buddy who go around fighting evil snake aliens to save the galaxy.”  
  
“Doesn’t sound too bad, want to binge it this weekend?”  
  
“Can’t, I’ve got homework coming due, and I’m trying to get another date.”  
  
“Tinder again?”  
  
Riley grimaced. “Nah. I got this other app called Taimi. It’s supposed to be more queer-friendly. Used to be like Grindr but they branched out, apparently.”  
  
“Well, if it stops you bitching at me about all the rando weird dudes who get through your Tinder settings, I’m all for it.”  
  
Riley cracked a smile. “Thanks, T.”  
  
“Don’t mention it.”  
  
They ate in silence for a minute. Then Tiffany spoke up. “How many matches so far?”  
  
Riley sighed. “None.”  
  
“For fucksake,” Tiffany sighed around a mouthful of sandwich.  
  
“Hey, it’s just luck and numbers against me.”  
  
“Fuck this, I’m getting you a date.” Tiffany pulled out her phone, wiping her hands on her blue jeans. She’d never have done that a couple of years ago, but many things had changed since she’d gotten serious about becoming a public defender.  
  
“Tiffany…”  
  
“No, seriously, Riley, I’m getting you a date.”  
  
“Come on, T,” Riley complained halfheartedly as Tiffany tapped a number on her speed dial.  
  
“Do you deny that you’d like a date?”  
  
“Well...yeah? But c’mon, you can’t just randomly find some chick to date me…”  
  
“I’m sure that my dad’s friend Mr. Berlanti knows a way. That guy’s a wizard with managing people and he’s got a ton of connections.”  
  
“How the Hell are you going to get me a date by calling a TV exec?”  
  
“I’m going to make you the hottest bachelorette in the world.”  
  
“Oh god, Tiffany!”  
  
“Don’t knock until you’ve tried it.”  
  
“I have a summer internship! With _Devin Stone_!”  
  
“And when does it end?”  
  
“...two weeks before school starts again.”  
  
“Hmm. Well, I’m sure that together we can cook something up. Maybe a TV ad. ‘Single ladies, do you want to date this gorgeous lawyer?’ kind of thing.”  
  
Riley rested her face in her hands and groaned.  
  
On the plus side, she might actually get a decent date out of this.


End file.
